Baaad

setting the scene

This is where the CowNots belong:

Lest there be any photographic perspective confusion, allow me to explain that I'm standing near the back of the house, and between me and the CowNot fence lie -- in order -- the driveway, driveway island, 'nother driveway, barn, garden, and pond. The CowNots belong waaay over there, beneath the arrow and beyond the silo.

When I'm in the house, I should not be able to hear, "Baaaaaa."

The CowNots do not belong here:


Why are there only three, though?
When they escape, they usually do it en masse.
Oh:


Uh-Oh:


CowNots do not belong here.
For you city dwellers, there is no such thing as a CowNot coop:


Move'em out.


Well, push harder.


Paparazzo (aka HelpfulNot Hannah) finally went for cookies.


Goatherder doesn't realize they lost the cookie trail:


So I'm stuck with this:

My mood wasn't enhanced by Willie's persistent snotting on me: *phfooomph* That's a rather indelicate thing to be saying, but the fact is that he was following me around and repeatedly snotting on my bare legs and toes (*phfooomph*), and it just wasn't a delicate experience. It was nasty, and you might as well know it. *phfooomph* So I was actually thankful when they started thinkin' about chicken feed again:


"Come help me open this door!"



CowNots do not belong here:


I finally chased them with the lawn tractor.
Three times that day.
[And a big, ol' *phfooomph* to you, Willie.]


Baaad CowNots.


Forasmuch as there is none like unto thee, O Lord; thou art great, and thy name is great in might. Who would not fear thee, O King of nations? for to thee doth it appertain: forasmuch as among all the wise men of the nations, and in all their kingdoms, there is none like unto thee. But they are altogether brutish and foolish: the stock is a doctrine of vanities. ~Jeremiah 10:6-8

Pods

Pods. And this missed the favorite things cut because of the mosquito. Stay with me here.

While I was out there admiring and photographing the bush, I noticed some pods hanging above my head. Interesting. Pod-love began to swell.
[pokable for pod-lovers]

But while I was trying to place the camera just-so, above my head, I also noticed a mosquito perched on my knuckle. Waaaa. Since I'd labored for the desired angle, I hastily poked the button, then I yanked my hand down and smacked the buhg.

No itch.... ...No itch.... Whew! I'd gotten her before she got me. I walked back to the house, warmed my coffee, greeted Son4, sat down at the computer...and ITCHED. *grrrr* Knuckle bites are the worst, and what's a blogpost without the ever-recurring whine?

Waaaa


Let all those that seek thee rejoice and be glad in thee: and let such as love thy salvation say continually, Let God be magnified. ~Psalm 70:4

The Maligned BushNot

Are you scared? Thinkin' I'm gonna get all political again? Calm yourself. It's really about a bushnot, hereafter know as the bush. To be entirely candid, we do call it a bush...but we know it's technically not one.

Having taken up residence here in August, '06, and needing to make some major, indoor amendments right away, we had little time for exploring (or even noticing) what was happening outdoors. I daresay, though, that the subject bush did nothing noticeable that year; it sat there, being a large, green bush. In the fall, Son4 and I noticed the interior of the bush was riddled with what appeared to be dead, dry, brown reeds. So we spent part of an afternoon literally walking into the bush, pulling them out of the ground, and we amassed a goodly tower of reeds to be hauled away.

As winter set in, the remaining green, leafy bush became a large clump of single, brown reeds. Hmm and uh-oh. And it was around that time when Charles began grumping about the bush. Everything gets kinda ugly in winter, so I pled for the bush's life.

Sure enough, come spring of '07, the bush began to leaf-out. By late June, I brought the bush to the attention of Charles, and he agreed that its summer show warranted a stay of execution.

The bush wintered in brown, reed form again, and Charles was again threatening all manner of harm to it. On March 22nd of this year, I set fire to the reeds. It was do or die time. That bush was setting Charles' teeth on edge, thus mine were doing a little grinding of their own. NOW look at the bush:


Pretty. ºÜº

In May I noticed little, green heads popping out of the burned circle. Sorta put one in mind of an asparagus patch. Sure enough, the bush grew and grew and eventually graced the driveway island with an enormous pouf of rounded, lush greenery. I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself, the protector, the lifesaver.

Then last week, Charles asked, "Have you seen your bush!?" I had. And satisfaction had turned to full-blown puffed-up-ed-ness, but I wasn't going to be the first to mention it. It had not only adorned the island with greenery through the summer, it was now fully abloom with beautiful clusters of flowers. My tender ministrations (read: Okay, I'll just set fire to the stinkin' thing) were just what the bush needed:





We still have no idea what the growth really is, so if anyone out there can name this spring asparagus-looking, winter dead-reed, summer lush, and autumn flowered thing, do tell.


O bless our God, ye people, and make the voice of his praise to be heard: which holdeth our soul in life, and suffereth not our feet to be moved. ~Psalm 66:8, 9

Not My Favorite - This Corn

There's a scary lack of stop or yield signs in CowAre and CowNot country. And I'm going to take you on a little driving tour, to illustrate why this corn is not my favorite thing.

[All images pokable for enlargement...if you're all about gravel roads.]
You gotta get your bearings, so you'll know where you're going. You've been to town and wreaked all the shopping havoc you can. Now you're going home, which is behind the trees in the distant left. That seeming hedge in the right foreground is actually said unloved corn. (I hope I'm not on the road when a bird lands on that wanky power pole on the left, 'cause that thing's goin' down!)


We'll get a closer look at the brown, dusty eyesore. Booo.


Now, who wants to look at that mess on their way home?

This, however, is the sight as I approach the same intersection on the rare occasions that I decide to leave home and wreak some shopping havoc. We're leaving home now:


You're thinking, "Well now, that's kinda nice. The morning sun is dancing across the treetops. The gravel looks pastorally pristine. Power poles are whispering infinity, and prairie grasses paint the landscape."

STOP!

You better stop, because you have no idea whether or not someone is flying down that intersecting road, about to smack the dickens out of you if you go any farther. Further. Farther. Where's Strunk when you need him? Or a crossing guard? Or a yield sign? Don't go far or fur, because you CAIN'T SEE. You cain't see anything but brown, dusty corn.


Bring on the harvest.
Not my favorite -- this corn.


Because thy lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee. ~Psalm 63:3

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

Zoomer sent the following, a forward, to me a few days ago, and since I have no original thoughts this morning, I'll open October with those of some clever person in cyberspace:

WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD?

BARACK OBAMA: The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a change! The chicken wanted change!

JOHN MCCAIN: My friends, that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road.

HILLARY CLINTON: When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure (right from Day One!) that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.

GEORGE W. BUSH: We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

DICK CHENEY: Where's my gun?

COLIN POWELL: Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.

BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your definition of road?

AL GORE: I invented the chicken.

JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.

AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens white? We need more black chickens.

DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken won't realize that he must first deal with the problem on this side of the road before it goes after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his current problems before adding new problems.

OPRAH: Well, I understand that this chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so badly. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a car so that he can drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.

ANDERSON COOPER, CNN: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed access to the other side of the road.

NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he's guilty! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.

PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.

MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No bird gave me any insider information about crossing.

DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain, alone.

GRANDPA: In my day we didn't ask why a chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.

BARBARA WALTERS: Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it had experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its lifelong dream of crossing the road.

ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.

JOHN LENNON: Imagine all the chickens crossing roads together.

BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken 2008, which will not only cross roads, but will integrate with those that lay eggs. Henhouse Explorer is an integral part of eChicken 2008. This new platform is much more stable than previous versions.

ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road pass beneath the chicken?



Though the Lord be high, yet hath he respect unto the lowly: but the proud he knoweth afar off. ~Psalm 138:6