Bailey’s giant cans

Bailey popped out a new bull this morning. You might not want to look at this picture too closely if you’re just sitting down to breakfast. He looks to be healthy, though at last check, he wasn’t standing up yet. I hope he does soon, because Bailey is sporting some monster titties.

Bathroom window cat

Ingestikoota. Ingestiwoota. Ingestikoota woota woota woota.

When we got this cat she was named Jessica. Not a name for a cat, by any stretch. We fixed that.

Spring

Thunderstorm

Barney and the other mules told me they could use a snack before all hell breaks loose. He’s been rolling in the mud for the several days now, and will require an hour long bath.

More geese

Slouching towards putt- putt

Succubi

I made the mistake of throwing these guys a handful of dry cat food a few days ago, and now they’ve staked out the corner of the yard where we drink in the evening. They wander up and beg first, then they nibble at your arm, then they pinch the hell out of you.

The way we live

We’re  making  a hobby shack out of something people used to live in. I gather they must have been in the fields a lot, indifferent to whatever was falling on their backs.

Pig fever

We were out in the lovely weather doing chores Sunday when I noticed the sound of mules thundering across the pasture.  This was accompanied by the terrified screeching of the potbellied pig.  The mules, especially Barney, regard her as vermin. I can’t say I’m of a different mind with them on this point.  She’d bulldozed her way underneath the fence into their territory and they were gleefully chasing her with the object of fully incorporating her into the soil. Their body language was saying “We got the motherfucker now!”

My wife intervened before progress could be made on the pig front. I fought to overcome a strange inertia but ultimately failed to move a muscle.

Maybe next time. Eh, Barney?

Herbert Long? No, Herbert Lom.