I’ve had enough people do searches on my site for what kind of breeds George and Gracie are, that I suppose I need to make up a page for them and add them to the “permanent residents” sidebar, ya think?
They’re Great Pyrenees, in case anyone searched and couldn’t find that information.
They’re also going tomorrow for spaying, neutering, and id-chipping. I actually bought them both id tags for their collars, but collars can come off and get lost, but id chips are FOREVAH.
The spud and I went out to hang out with the dogs and chickens on Friday, and I swear to god, George and Gracie adore the hell out of her. They think she is totally the bee’s knees, they were rubbing up against her and flopping onto their backs for belly rubs and giving her the puppydog eyes.
Speaking of Friday, it was my birthday, and the spud took me out for a birthday lunch. (All together now: Awwww!) We went to Logan’s Roadhouse and I had a really good cheeseburger and side salad and it was really quite nice!
By the way, thank you for all your sweet birthday wishes! I appreciated them.
I really kind of (not-so-secretly) hoped that Fred would surprise me with a G1, but I didn’t really expect it, so I wasn’t TOO heartbroken that I didn’t get one. Like he told me last night, it’s not the cost of the G1 that stopped him, it’s the two-year contract for $65 a month for the bare minimum.
A few weeks ago, Fred said “What do you want for your birthday?” and I said “Let me think about it”, and to him, that translated into “GET ME NOTHING.”
(He insists that I said “Let me think about it. Probably nothing.” WHICH IS WRONG.)
And then a few days after that, we started talking about going to Nashville overnight, since we have the dogs to watch the chickens and so we don’t have to be home at dark to close them up into the coop. “That can be my birthday present!” I said. I wasn’t able to talk him into taking in a show at the Opry, but there are other things to see in Nashville, so I was happy.
Last week, on a particularly rainy night (Monday, maybe?) Gracie escaped the chicken yard. We’re pretty sure that the water was freaking the dogs out because there was a LOT of standing water, and once we let them into the coop, they were calm and happy.
So a few nights later I said “Are we still going to go to Nashville, or would you be too worried?” about the dogs escaping when we weren’t around, and he allowed that he would likely be too worried, and I said that I would too, and we decided to put off the overnight trip (if any) until the summer. We’re planning on getting pigs in the next month or so, and we can’t really be away overnight, because the pigs have to be fed at night.
“You didn’t get me anything for my birthday, DID you?” I asked, the night before my birthday.
“You said you didn’t want anything!”
So, no. No birthday presents from Fred, no G1, nada. NOT EVEN A CAKE.
“You didn’t even get me a cake!” I said, on the evening of my birthday.
“I figured if you wanted one, you would have said something!” he said.
“NOTE FOR THE FUTURE: I ALWAYS WANT A BIRTHDAY CAKE!”
Before I yelled at him about the birthday cake, though, he suddenly asked if I wanted to go get some ice cream in honor of my birthday, and ice cream is about equivalent to cake in my world, so I didn’t kill him and bury him in the back forty.
(Besides, the dogs would just dig him up. Damnit.)
I did get a box of birthday goodness from Nance and Rick that included a buttload of Fiestaware, a lot of stinky stuff, and the coasters she sewed for me (when she posted the picture of fabric in this entry, I just KNEW it was gonna be for me. That adorable fabric is VERY “me”). My mother sent me a gift certificate so I can buy more Fiestaware next time I visit Nance and Rick.
My mother and Nance are all about feeding the addiction, obviously.
So, all in all, a very quiet, low-key birthday. And it ended with ice cream, so it’s all good!
Hey, did I mention that I almost bought myself a GPS for Christmas? Only, when I went back to buy it, the model I wanted was all sold out.
Guess what comes with a built-in GPS?
It’s almost like the universe is trying to send a message…
(Okay, I’m shutting up about the G1 now.)
Hmm. Fred DID make me a couple of bird houses last weekend, I guess I could consider that my birthday present. They came out really nice, and we have enough wood for a couple more. I’m going to get him to show me how to slap them together; that seems like a handy skill to have.
I painted them on Thursday, but they’re slow in drying (I just put some outdoor paint on them; the wood he used wasn’t treated, and we don’t want them to rot). Once they’re dry and mounted, I’ll take another pic.
Hey, how about some chicken pics?!
This is Sassy. Every day, Sassy flies to the top of the chicken yard fence, jumps down to the ground, then struts over to the OLD chicken yard where her childhood home – the first coop Fred ever made – is located. She lays an egg in the old coop, then spends the rest of the day wandering around the property before finally flying back into the chicken yard just in time for a snack before bedtime.
If she ever started wandering too far, we’d clip one of her wings to stop her from getting out of the yard. But she stays right on the property, so we’re letting her be free. She truly is a free-range chicken!
A few weeks ago, we realized that Michelle and the Buff rooster had gotten frostbite on their combs. Stupid us, we didn’t know that would happen – we thought that putting a heat lamp in the coop would be enough to protect them. We put stuff on their combs to prevent infection, and in the future if it’s going to get really cold (which it’s supposed to do in a few days), we’ll put vaseline on their combs to protect them. (The pics are post-medication – the purplish-black parts you see on their combs are post-medication.)
So far, they seem to be recovering nicely.
2008: No entry.
2007: I don’t know what it is about Lowe’s that makes me so gassy.
2006: Right now, Fred’s thanking his lucky stars that I don’t have this much Christmas stuff, because it would drive him NUTS.
2005: (YES, GODDAMNIT! I HAVE CONFIRMED THAT YOU CAN, IN FACT, BEGIN WRITING THE FUCKING CHECK BEFORE YOU ACTUALLY HEAR WHAT THE TOTAL IS, YOU IN-MY-WAY MOTHERFUCKER!)
2004: I need to go crack open a beer, watch the game, scratch my balls, and think about what this means.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: “Yeah, so you‘ll be the one with the big head blocking everyone else’s view.”
2000: No, I’m not on any drugs, why do you ask?