Author: Robyn

Shortly after Fred and I wished each other a happy anniversary Monday evening, Miss Stank sashayed across the room, gave me an angry glare*, and snuggled up next to Tommy.

“You realize,” I said to Fred as I watched Tommy diligently lick the top of Miss Stank’s head, “Even if we wanted to, we could never get a divorce.”

“DARN,” Fred said, trying to look disappointed but only succeeding in looking proud of himself for dissing me. “Why’s that?”

“Because Spanky is mine,” I said. “You gave him to me as a gift for Christmas. And Miz Poo is mine, too. Sugarbutt and Tommy are mine, also.”

“Tommy’s not yours!”

“Tommy’s mine because we could never separate him from Sugarbutt. And Sugarbutt is ABSOLUTELY mine.”

Fred did not disagree with that.

“So if I took Tommy, I’d have to take Miss Stank as well, because it would break her heart to be separated from him. And I’d take Newt, because I love him and you prefer Miss Momma, so she’d be yours. So I’d end up with Spanky, Miz Poo, Tommy and Sugs, Miss Stank, and Newt. And you’d end up with Mister Boogers and Miss Momma and Joe Bob.”

There was a long silence as Fred considered.

“I could live with that!” he declared, once again looking proud of himself. Lucky for him, he’s got fast reflexes so the book I threw didn’t hit him squarely upside the head, only glanced off his shoulder.

 

*Every evening, we eat dinner around 5. Beginning around 5:30, Miss Stank decides it’s Snackin’! Time! and she begins her routine of walking across my line of vision, glaring angrily at me, and then meowing one high-pitched, demanding meow. I glare back at her and say “NO.” She goes away. Two minutes later she comes back, glares, sashays across the room, and meows again. If I stand up and walk anywhere near the kitchen, she runs in front of me, sits on the rug on the kitchen floor and howls. And howls. Then glares. Then sashays. And on and on and on until it’s 7:00. And if I should have the nerve to stop in the bathroom to pee on my way to the kitchen, she comes into the bathroom, glares at me, and howls and howls and howls. The NERVE of me.

 

We lost a chick yesterday – and by “lost” I mean “she died.” Fred noticed that she seemed slow and wobbly, more wobbly than the other chicks that is, and this morning he told me he was worried that she wasn’t going to make it. When I went out to look at them mid-morning, I saw immediately the chick he meant. She was just sitting under the heating lamp, not moving much. The chicks don’t ever realize I’m there until I say something, in which case they scatter all over the place, chirping in fear. This one didn’t even move, and when I reached down to touch her, she barely moved. I dipped her beak in water a couple of times, and she never drank. When another chick smacked into her in an attempt to run by, she fell over on her front and couldn’t seem to get back up. I set her on her feet, but she just sat and wobbled there. By the time Fred got home, she was dead.

Poor little chick.

We noticed another one was ailing last night and kept an eye on her and tried to get her to drink and eat, but when it’s a tiny bird, there’s really a limit to what you can do. This morning, she was dead. The rest of the chicks are looking bright-eyed and perky, so hopefully that will be the last chick we lose.

To tide you over ’til I post a video of myself sounding like a sheer and utter idiot on Friday (there’s something to look forward to!), here’s a video of the chicks and their reaction to being spoken to.

YouTube link

 

I spent two hours cleaning the hell out of the kitchen and laundry room yesterday, just because it had been so long. This cleaning included getting on my hands and knees and scrubbing the floor, which desperately needed it. I cleaned the microwave, I cleaned the refrigerator (and found a container of sour cream that expired in December, blech), I switched the flour and sugar and brown sugar and cornmeal to my new canisters (with red tops – they don’t really scream “country kitchen”, but they’ll keep the damn moths out that’s for sure), I wiped everything down, and when I was done the kitchen looked clean and if you really looked closely you might notice that I’d cleaned, but maybe not two hours’ worth.

Oh well. I know it’s been cleaned, and that’s all that matters.

The plan for today is to clean the dining room (and get the damn cat carrier off the table once and for all) and computer room and maybe my bedroom. I’m not making any promises, though.

Later I’m going to run to Big Lots and do some browsing. In and amongst all that excitement, I’ll snuggle some kitties and check on the chicks obsessively. Maybe run out a bagel and some grapes to the pigs.

I’d make a humorous comment here about how you wish your life was as exciting as mine, but to be honest, I kinda love my life right now and wouldn’t trade it for anything.

 

The kittens are doing just fine, though they are not crazy about this new twice-daily dose of Doxycycline. Can’t say as I blame them, but once they get past the taste, they forgive pretty quickly. And then I put Terramycin in their eyes, and they’re like “Woe is me, and when will the suffering ENNNNND?”

But then the sun shines and they get happy again. Nothin’ like sunshine to make some happy kittens, I tell you.

 

Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: I’m a total freak.
2003: She’s home!
2002: Of course, my sympathy for him will only last until he poos in the hallway instead of the litter box again.
2001: I am the dumbest dumbass in the whole wide world, I really am.
2000: Sometimes, they lay on the floor and perform for us.

Yesterday morning I left the house a little later than I like to on Monday mornings and I was just driving up the driveway toward the road when my cell phone rang. It was Fred, and when I answered he frantically asked “Where are you?”

“Just about to pull out of the driveway,” I said.

“The chickens are here!” he said.

We’d been under the impression that the new baby chicks were going to be born and shipped today, and would be here on Wednesday. Luckily, since I’d left the house late, it was no big deal to turn into the post office, pick up the chicks, and bring them home to situate them.

Last year I didn’t see the chicks until after Fred had set them up in their new home. This year it would have been silly for him to come home, get the chicks, and put them in their new home since I was right there. He finished the new brooder a few weeks ago, and I painted the inside of it (to protect the wood from baby chicken poop. Man alive, can little baby chickens poop like nobody’s business), and yesterday he set it up so that the only thing that needed to be done was to plug in the extension cord (which would turn on the heat lamps) and fill up the watering… thingy. Whatever it’s called.

So I left the box o’ chicks (a surprisingly smaller box than you’d think) in my car, since it was warm, and I brought the water thingy inside to fill it up with tepid water, and by the time I got the water thingy out to the garage (did I mention that the brooder is in the garage this year?) the heat lamps had heated up nicely. I managed to slop water all over the freaking place on my way back out to the garage OF COURSE. And when I stepped inside the brooder I simultaneously knocked down both of the heat lamps AND slopped a nice puddle of water on the floor of the brooder.

I’m lucky I didn’t electrocute myself, now that I think about it.

I set the heat lamps back up where they belonged and got the water set up in a corner of the brooder, and then finally opened the box o’ chicks.

I forgot how cute they are.

Although Fred had ordered 27 chicks, the packing slip listed 28 chicks, and we actually only received 24: 22 live, 2 dead in shipping.

I had to take the (live) chicks out one by one, dip their beaks in the water, and watch to make sure they got the idea. Every single one of them would sit there for a moment contemplatively, then tilt their heads back and swallow.

I about keeled over from the cuteness of it.

About halfway through the box of chicks, I called Fred in frustration.

“They keep getting in the water and sitting there!” I said.

“Are they able to get out of the water?”

“Yeah, they can get out, but then some of them get back in! Maybe they accidentally sent us ducks instead of chickens.”

“If they can get out, they should be okay,” he said.

“I’m not worried about that, I’m worried about the fact that they like to just all of a sudden fall asleep where they are, and I don’t want to come home to chickens who’ve drowned, even if it does ensure the survival of the fittest.”

We decided I’d find marbles or stones at Michael’s to put in the water so that even if they did fall asleep while they were in the water, they (hopefully) wouldn’t drown.

So far, all the ones who arrived alive still are. Let’s hope that continues.

She’s an Americauna like Frick and Flappy, so will lay blue eggs when she grows up. If you look closely enough, you’ll see her tongue sticking out.

Americauna on the left, a white crested black polish on the right. I’m already calling the wc black polish chicks “Ivana Trump.” Fred’s calling them “Don King.”

A sleepy Rhode Island Red.

At the trough.

All the bebbes.

I cannot wait ’til these puffy-headed chickens grow up. They’ll lay eggs, but I think we all know that their main purpose is nothin’ but entertainment.

 

Yesterday went by amazingly fast for me. By the time I got home from the pet store, Target, and Michael’s, it was almost 11. By the time I was done wasting time online, it was after noon. I spent some time with the kittens, checked on the chicks a couple of times, checked for eggs from the Girlz, ate lunch, and the next thing I knew, Fred was home. Spent more time with the kittens, made dinner (“making” dinner consisted of warming up the chicken Fred smoked in the smoker on Sunday, and tossing some summer squash (from last summer) and corn on the cob (also from last summer) on to boil.), went for a walk around the back forty, stopped to feed the pigs leftovers (corn cobs and summer squash), stopped to feed the chickens leftovers (corn on the cob, chicken scraps), a little more time with the kittens, and voila. Time to go watch TV ’til bedtime.

I hate having to adjust to the time change every spring, but I adore the fact that it’s light outside until 7ish.

On a side note, I mentioned up there somewhere that we had boiled summer squash for dinner last night. That’s squash left over from last summer, and I know that at the time, everyone said that you can’t freeze or can summer squash, that it tastes horrible. I’ll say that it’s certainly nowhere near as good as the fresh, but it’s certainly not horrible. It’s kind of bland, but if you put some salt and pepper and Brummel and Brown on it, it’s pretty good. I’ve also been sauteeing summer squash with an onion, dehydrated Sungold tomatoes, and okra, and that’s a mighty fine side dish.

 

The foster kittens are doing okay, though they’ve – Lindsay, mostly – started developing a bit of congestion, and the goopy eyes, so I’ve started them on Doxycycline and Terramycin, and hopefully that will take care of that. Poor kitties, they’d just gotten used to being happy to see me (they get half a can of food in the morning and another half at night to accompany the dry food they have available all day long), and now it’s “Am I happy to see you, or are you going to shoot nasty stuff in my mouth?”

Lindsay is such a little purr machine. She turns it on the instant she sees us, and even when we’re medicating her, she only stops purring until the medicating is over, then on goes the purring again.

Miz S asked if it was true that it’s unusual to have orange cats be female, and I do believe it is. I’ve heard or read (or possibly completely made up!) that about 75% of orange cats are male. So it’s a little unusual, but not unheard of. What are the chances that I’d end up with three orange tabbies given my complete and utter love for them?

(And no, we’re not keeping them!)

Bath time for Maeby.

And Lucille.

Playful kitties.

“What?”

******************

Newt is absolutely dying to get into the foster kitten room. I’d like to think it’s because he wants to bond with them, but really it’s because they get Science Diet Kitten to eat, and Newt enjoys a little kitten food now and then. I don’t want him to catch whatever they’ve got, so I’ve been keeping him out. Doesn’t stop him from trying every single time, though.

******************

Newt loves to spend his days snoozing on my bed.

 

Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: OR MAYBE I JUST NEED A NEW COMPUTER.
2003: So, there. That’s my day so far.
2002: I’m a total calendar-having fool.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

Today marks 12 years since I first met Fred.

Happy anniversary, baby!

 

Remember back in December when I asked y’all to send good thoughts toward Jonas, who’d just been medevacced out of town?

Well, Jonas is finally home! Yay!!!!

 

We had a little weirdness on Friday in the form of a super-mega-mutant egg. Read about it (and see pictures!) on Fred’s site. I spent Friday evening cringing in sympathy for poor Flappy McGee. She seems to be perfectly okay, though, so I guess she recovered quickly.

Fred posted another entry yesterday, complete with pig movie. The pigs talk to Fred. Fred talks back. He sounds like, well, go see for yourself.

 

For the record, when I said in Friday’s entry,

if the pigs are boys (and we suspect they are), they were castrated before we brought them home.

what I meant was

if the pigs are boys (and we suspect they are), they were castrated before we brought them home.

I did not say

if the pigs are boys, I assume they were castrated before we brought them home.

So, to restate the statement so that it’s clearer:

I don’t know if the pigs are boys, but Fred tells me that they are. If they are boys then they were castrated before we brought them home, because the man who sold them to us told us that he castrated all the boys in that group of pigs himself.

 

I don’t know if I mentioned that we’ve started watching The Office or not, but we finished off the disc from Season 1 (which we got from Netflix) pretty quickly, and since Saturday was such a cold, crappy day Fred went to the movie store, and we spent the afternoon watching movies and the first disc of The Office, Season 2.

That is such a damn good show. I should have known it would be – my friend Liz loves it, and without fail every time she recommends a show, we end up loving it. Vis a vis: Oz. Seinfeld (I didn’t get into Seinfeld until around Season 3, I think). There are others, I just can’t think of them at the moment.

At one point, Fred said “I think Dwight Schrute might be the best character ever shown on television.”, and I had to tell him “That’s because you are Dwight, only with a sense of humor.” Then I thought about it and said “You’re Dwight with Jim‘s sense of humor.”

Such a fine, fine show. If you’re looking for a show to fill your time ’til the previously-on-strike shows come back, you could definitely do worse.

 

 

Friday afternoon I was sitting in the living room watching Lost when the phone rang. The manager of the no-kill cat shelter I volunteer for was calling.

“Want some kittens?” she asked.

“You know I do! When can I come get them?”

“Any time!”

So I got up and got me some kittens.

Lindsay, Lucille and Maeby.

They’re named, in case it’s not apparent (or you’re not a fan) after the women of Arrested Development. They’re about three months old, and they were just spayed Thursday (I think). The first day we had them, all they did was sleep. And sleep. And sleep some more. If I went in and picked one of them up, they’d let me snuggle them, but they weren’t into it.

Then yesterday morning I went in, and they got up and played. And chased each other around. And came over to sniff me.

They are seriously cute and sweet. I don’t expect them to be around very long; since they’ve been spayed and they’re all healthy, we’re just waiting for room to open up at the pet store.

Lindsay, the friendly one. You pick her up, and she starts purring very loudly. Actually, you don’t even need to pick her up, you can just talk to her, and she purrs and purrs. She’d let you hold her all day long and pet her if you wanted.

Maeby, the semi-friendly one. She won’t come looking for love, but if you pick her up and pet her, she’ll put up with it for a little while before she remembers she’s got somewhere else to be. She’s the most playful of the three, though she’s not impressed with catnip (none of them are).

Lucille, the least friendly of the three. She’d rather you not pick her up, please. Also, she doesn’t want to play. She’s suspicious of your intentions. Why do you keep looking at her? Oh, OKAY, if you must pick her up she’ll stay in your arms for a long 30 seconds before she runs off. It’ll take a little while to make friends with her, but I suspect that once she’s your friend, she’s your friend forEVER.

Lindsay and Lucille, snuggling in the sun.

Lindsay in the sun.

Lucille in the sun.

Maeby would like to nap, please.

The permanent cat residents of the house are not impressed with the new additions, especially since that means they can’t hang out in the foster kitten room anymore. Maxi was so eager to get in the foster kitten room that I let her in for a minute to see what would happen. Would she be all “Oh! Bebbeh kittehs! I love!” and begin grooming them?

Not so much. Instead, she sniffed noses with one of them, and then hissed and would have gone so far as to start smacking, but I picked her up and put her out of the room. The kittens responded by puffing up and walking slowly around the room.

Maxi, apparently, is not the new goodwill ambassador to the kittens.

*****************

Give Maxi sunshine and concrete, and she’s a happy, happy kitty.

 

Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: Today’s the 10th anniversary of the day Fred and I met.
2005: I met Fred nine years ago today.
2004: Eight years ago today, I entered the IRC Undernet channel #!Fredsplace and met the geek who owned and ran the channel, who would eventually become the love of my life. (Complete with mush!)
2003: Sick Poo.
2002: No entry.
2001: Five years ago today, I was on IRC and I wandered into the Undernet channel #!Fredsplace, and I met the love of my life. (More mush!)
2000: Four years ago today, I wandered into the IRC Undernet channel #!Fredsplace, thus setting into motion a chain of events which would echo down through the years.

I apologize for the length of this movie, but I am no movie editor; I just dumped it to a file and uploaded it. If you want to hear the peegs grunting as they run up to me, crank your volume up. This is from yesterday, when I took a sliced apple, a ton of grapes, and a bagel out to the pigs. That little one sure does like his grapes.

YouTube link

 

Dear Robyn: As you know I am highly opposed to these pigs, but whatever, my question is…why must you feed them people food? Is there some reason? Don’t they sell Pig Chow? I mean, you can’t be serious that you are actually buying full price GROCERIES for swine? Sincerely, Pig Hater.

and

I was wondering, too, why you don’t feed them Pig Chow? I didn’t think it was too expensive and it’s got everything needed for healthy pigs. You can always give them treats of table scraps.

and

Here in Milwaukee, many grocery stores have “seconds” tables set out reduced produce/bakery. (Usually a smaller market will do that but not usually the big ones.) Maybe a stores in the bigville does it and stores in smallville don’t. Good luck – seconds can be a great deal if you dig deep enough on the table.

I guess I forgot to mention the fact that we actually do feed them Pig Chow (or whatever it’s called); that’s their main source of food. They have that available to them all the time in the bowl by their shelter. The other stuff I buy – bagels, fruit, vegetables, is in addition to the pig feed. Because it’s the law here at Crooked Acres that all animals must be fed and fed well for all the days of their lives.

We have a bakery thrift store near where Fred works, where they sell bakery stuff for rock-bottom prices. It’s where we get our bread, and Fred was there earlier this week but didn’t see anything worth buying to feed the pigs.

I promise, I do NOT buy full-price groceries for the pigs, I buy stuff that’s on sale or about to go bad, so it’s marked way down. Also, they get our leftovers.

 

I have a question for tomorrow that might really be more for Fred, but I thought maybe you could answer it. Is there any aspect of “you are what you eat” with respect to the pigs and the quality of their meat? I mean, does the quality of the pig meat (which you guys will be eating!) change with what you feed them? Can you make it leaner and/or more nutritious if you give them healthy grains and veggies vs. Little Debbie Snack cakes? Just curious.

As mentioned above, the main source of their intake is the “Pig Chow” we leave available for them in their bowl, as well as the stuff they dig up from their yard (pigs like to eat roots, among other things). The majority of the people food we give them is fairly healthy – fruits and vegetables with bagels tossed in because they like them so much. The Little Debbie snack cakes are a more occasional treat specifically chosen because the pigs can take them directly from Fred’s hand (Fred, sitting behind me right now, says he’ll take care of his fingers just fine, thanks.) and they’ve already come to know that when he does that (holds food out to them), it’s ’cause he’s got something good to eat. That training ensures that when the time comes to shoot them in the head, he won’t have to do it from a distance.

 

Those are going to be the most spoiled piggies on the planet. The pictures of them frolicking in their yard too cute. Do they have names?

As of last night, they are named! Meet:

Hock Hudson.

And Hamuel (“Ham”) L. Jackson.

 

I was listening to a show on NPR the other day regarding backyard chicken and egg production. One of the drawbacks, according to the person being interviewed, is that in late summer flies can become a huge issue. Did you find that to be a problem last summer? if so, how did you and Fred deal with it? – I would imagine it to be a good idea to avoid pesticides as much as possible, especially if one plans to consume either the eggs or the chickens. Do those sticky fly strips work?

The fly situation was actually not that bad, except in the coop itself. We put up sticky fly strips around mid-summer, which helped a lot. Cleaning out the bedding on a regular basis helps keep the fly population down, too.

 

Ed, my orange tiger, has started eating about half of his meal like a cat, and then eating the second half like … Idk, a raccoon? A monkey? He uses his paw, scoops up some food and then eats it off his paw. He only does this for the second half of the meal and I have gone over to the bowl and fluffed things up, thinking maybe he can’t get the food with his tongue anymore? But he still eats the second half (roughly, he’s not standing there with a scale and a t-square) with his paw. Is he a freak?

I think I’ve heard of cats doing that, though I don’t believe any of ours have ever done it. I saw somewhere (I did a lot of Googling around so don’t remember where I saw this) that it’s possible cats who lick food off their paws do so because they don’t like having their whiskers touch the side of the bowl, and if you feed them off a plate rather than a bowl, it’s not an issue. So the question is – do you feed him from a bowl? If so, give a plate a try and see if that makes a difference!

 

I don’t even know what edamame or quinoa is. Are.

The only reason I knew what edamame was in the first place is because someone on Survivor once objected to the idea of killing a chicken, and asked why they couldn’t have gotten a nice pile of edamame instead. And then I read about it in a magazine, and then someone mentioned it to me in an email, and then I saw it in the produce section of the grocery store, so I decided to give it a try. And I found that it was GOOD.

I’ve never had quinoa, and only vaguely know that it’s something grain-like. Right? This site says it’s the botanical fruit of an herb plant. It is treated as a grain in cooking. It’s one of those things I’ve always thought about trying, but never really got around to it. (It’s pronounced “keen-wah”, by the way.)

Does typing edamame that many times make it look as weird as it does reading it that many times?

Every time I type it, I have to stop halfway through and talk myself through the damn word.

One more edamame thing: Trader Joe’s has a really great combo called “Soycutash” – it’s like succotash, except instead of the lima beans, they use edamame. Really yummy … I bet you can make your own this summer with your garden produce. (You can google “soycutash” to see it)

Y’all make me so jealous with your Trader Joe’s love. There are NO Trader Joe’s around here, damnit!

That Soycutash looks good, only I don’t like red peppers. I could see making something like corn, edamame and beans, though. I bet that’d be good!

 

A friend of mine found these and for some reason I thought of you and Fred.

I’ve posted the first one before, and just saw the second one for the first time a couple of days ago. That cat in the second one, the way s/he sits and thinks about it before moseying through the door? That is EXACTLY what Miss Momma does, and it drives me nuts. I actually start COUNTING OUT LOUD sometimes when she’s sitting there debating whether she wants to come inside or not. Usually by the time I hit three, she gets her ass through the door.

 

How in the heck does one manage to swallow cross stitch thread? and do I even really want to know? heeeee I cross stitch like a mad woman at times and have never had this happen yet and would like to try to avoid it.

As I am sitting on the couch cross-stitching, sometimes the end of the thread gets a little frayed, and I hate that, so I use my little scissors to clip the end off, and then I touch the scissors (where the thread is) to my tongue because both my hands are full (one with whatever I’m cross-stitching, the other with the scissors) and I intend to pick the thread off my tongue when I have a free hand, but sometimes I forget and swallow the thread. THAT’S HOW THAT HAPPENS.

 

Hey Robyn – Just wanted to let you know that pigs LUUUUV chocolate! This is probably TMI, but we artificially inseminate the sows on our farms. So when the boars get up on the dummy and we have collected their semen, they get a little cookie for doing well. Whenever I share my “hog farm” stories with my girlfriends, they always ask if I leave cookies on my husband’s nightstand!

Fred laughed and laughed when I read this to him, at the idea of boars doing their thing, getting off the dummy and then getting a cookie for their efforts. Thanks for the info, though – next time I make cookies, you KNOW Fred will be running out there to feed them to the pigs!

 

We used to have problems with our cats getting into the potted plants also. Since I had a boat load of plants I was damned if I was going to throw them out and waste all that money so I went and spent more money… on a big bag of river rocks. I covered all the dirt with rocks and the cats hated it. Pro: I could keep my plants and water them easily. Con: They weighed a ton and were a bitch to move.

I think this is THE MOST AWESOME piece of advice I’ve ever gotten. Never EVER would have occurred to me – what an awesome idea. I’m going to go start buying plants again!

 

i have used twin sheets as curtains. you don’t have to sew anything if you make a tiny slit with a seam ripper in the side hem of the curtain. i didn’t adjust the length and just let them puddle on the floor. one of my GAY husbands was over to see the house after i got them up, and he grabbed them and said something about me “being miss fancy with her expensive suburban window treatments” and he couldn’t believe they were just bed sheets. works, plus they have a line at linens-n-things called colorups that you can buy in a jillion shades and just buy only the twin flat sheet for like $5. i usually hung them up in pairs, and if i didn’t puddle them on the floor, i would use tassels from dollar tree as tiebacks. fancy schmancy!

I was actually just going to make valances to go across the tops of the windows in my bedroom. But we’ve got the old, crappy blinds traded out for the lovely plantation blinds (that look SO much better!), and I still feel that if someone really wanted to, they could peer through the little gaps at the side of the blinds and see into my bedroom. Which, big thrills there, all they’d see is me laying in bed reading, but still. I think I might have to give the twin-sheets-as-curtains idea a try and see how it looks and how I like it!

 

Regarding the cat sucking thing, do you think that applies to dogs too? I have a 3-year-old Weimy who sucks on blankets and has since the day we brought him home.

I don’t see why not!

 

I think you should call one “Pork” and the other “Chops”. I also noticed for the pics on Fred’s page that one has piggy eyes (like you read in a novel “He had mean little piggy eyes…”) and the other has big pretty eyes like Wilbur or Babe. Pretty cute.

Fred said that exact same thing (about the eyes, I mean). I don’t know, they both look the same to me, I’ll have to take a closer look.

 

Unless I’m mistaken, in the 3rd picture of the pigs on Fred’s site, the pig on the right appears to have nipples. I could be wrong, but don’t only female pigs have nipples?

and

umm, forgive my ignorance, but is it not possible to see piggy private parts? Nipples or not, why can’t anyone tell the gender?

and

If you do manage to get a picture of the “piggy privates,” PLEASE post it if one of them is male. Pigs have a corkscrew shaped penis and I want to see that. I’m gross that way.

Like humans, male pigs can have nipples; nipples don’t determine sex. (The same holds true for cats – every time he stretches, Tommy points a nipple at us that is glaringly obvious and we’ve been known to whine “Tommy’s pointing his NIPPLE at me!”)

There’ll be no pig balls evident here at Crooked Acres; if the pigs are boys (and we suspect they are), they were castrated before we brought them home.

And if there were any corkscrew shaped penises, I can assure you you would never see a picture of them HERE. Maybe Fred would be posting pictures all over the place, but not me. I spend as little time as possible NOT looking at the back end of the pigs, because there’s nothing on that end that interests me at ALL.

 

Donny Osmond. I was far more into Sean Cassidy. Oooh baby. My plan was to go to LA when I turned 16 in a blue dress (his favorite color) and happen to slip and fall in front of him. Because he would of course help me up and look into my eyes and fall deeply and forever in love with me.

Oh my GOD. At some point after Donny Osmond broke my heart and married that Mormon manstealer, I fell in lurve with Michael Damian, who played Danny Romalotti on The Young and the Restless.

(Shaddup.)

And I had the most BRILLIANT plan. I was going to move to LA, and I was going to buy a house down the street from his house. Then one day I would be walking by his house at the SAME TIME he was walking out his front door, and he would take one look at me and fall in love. Of COURSE.

Also, when I was an older teen, I had a mad crush on Bryan Adams. Who is from Canada. And I thought that I would move to Canada after I graduated from high school to find my True Love Bryan Adams, because (I swear to god, I said these exact words) after all, how big could Canada possibly BE?

 

What was the quote? I love the Alien movies.

Someone needs to take off and nuke the site from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.

 

So, what do the kitties think of Pork and Chop? If they are anything like my cats, they have thoroughly investigated the situation already.

The indoor kitties haven’t seen the pigs at all – and in fact, can’t really see them from the back yard. Miss Momma and Newt have seen them, though. Miss Momma spent a long, long time sitting and staring at them with big, dark eyes like she was thinking “What the HELL?” Newt just glanced at them like “Yep, there are the pigs,” and kept on going. He had places to go.

 

Wait. You fed the “Girlz” scrambled eggs? Aren’t the “Girlz” the chickens? Isn’t that … well, I don’t know what it is exactly and it’s not like I haven’t wanted to scramble and fry my own two rotten kids on occasion, but … I don’t know. Something is hurting my brain here.

The Girlz not only eat scrambled eggs, they eat cooked chicken as well. They’re total cannibals, and they love it!

 

Yes, I can see now that dinner is now going to be cooked for 4 – you, Fred, Pork and Chop. And when the big day finally comes there is no way Fred is going to be able to slaughter his dinner guests for the past 2 years

First of all, dinner doesn’t get cooked for FOUR, dinner gets cooked for the two of us, all 13 of the chickens AND the pigs. We’ve been feeding the chickens our leftovers for the past (almost) year, so of course the pigs are going to get in on that action.

Second, those pigs won’t be around for two years – they’ll be slaughtered in December, when they’re about 11 months old.

 

I’m laying a bet right now that the little piggy in that photo is going to die of old age on Crooked Acres. He’ll never be a pork chop.

I’m trying to convince Fred to take all y’all on – something like, everyone places a bet and if he goes through with it, y’all owe the shelter we foster for the amount of your bet; if he doesn’t, WE owe the shelter the amount of your bet. Anyone interested? (This is not an official call for bets – just seeing if anyone’s interested in taking part in something like that!)

 

I’ve been wondering whether the pigs will be getting a bath before they’re slaughtered?

Yeah, I’ve been saving up bath bombs for them, and we’re going to bring them inside and gently scrub their backs with a loofah.

I kid (but I wouldn’t put it past us!).

Fred says no, that they’ll be scrubbed and scalded when they are dead.

 

Any idea why our darling cat insists on stepping just inside the litter box far enough for all four feet to be on the litter, yet her hiney hangs over the edge, so poop is usually half right on the edge, half out, and often she pees on the litter mat instead of going in the box. We’ve always used the same litter (Fresh Step), keep it clean, and have the biggest box you can buy. It doesn’t have a top (we tried that, but have taken it off to see if that helps – it doesn’t). When I talk “cat stuff” I usually preface with, “Robyn says….” so thought I’d bring this issue to you. Thanks for any and all help!

Everything you’ve done is exactly what I would have recommended – the last thing I can think of is to buy something tall enough so that she can’t hang her butt over the edge of the litter box. For years, we used plastic sweater boxes, you know the ones you can get at Wal-Mart or Target, that come with lids that are meant to store things in? We’d buy those, discard the tops, and use the box itself as a litter box. If it’s tall enough, I would think that she’d have to get all the way in it and thus couldn’t hang her butt over the edge. It’s worth a try – the sweater boxes aren’t terribly expensive, and if it solves the problem, it’s worth it, right?

 

“I am former Senator Stanley J. Boogerton, and I disapprove this message.”

 

Previously
2007: Going on hiatus!
2006: Hell of a way to start out your retirement, ain’t it?
2005: Book recommendations and a meme.
2004: No entry.
2003: Be afraid. Be very afraid.
2002: Food for her youngs.
2001: Not much going on here.
2000: Mean mommy, huh?

Last night I was laying in bed reading, and I kept hearing the most annoying rubbing sound, so I finally put my book down and looked around to see what the hell was going on. Tommy was on the floor next to my cedar trunk, and he was rubbing his entire body against the trunk and purring very loudly. Finally, he stopped rubbing against the trunk, and just flopped down next to it.

And then he started licking it. He must have licked it for two or three minutes straight, until there was a big wet spot on the side, and then he stumbled off, looking for all the world like he was high.

I know that when Fred cut down the cedar tree in the back yard last year, some of the cats could smell the cedar on his clothes, and they acted high. This is the first time any of them has had that reaction to the trunk in the bedroom, though.

Have y’all ever heard of the smell of cedar making cats high, or is it just my freaks?

Since y’all had so many questions about edamame (pronounced “ed-a-MA-MAY“), here’s some information. First of all, edamame is (are?) young soy beans, picked when they’re first ripe, then usually boiled and frozen immediately. I buy the big-ass box of Imperial Gourmet Edamame at Sam’s Club. They’re separated into 8 microwaveable bowls of edamame. I pop the bowl into the microwave for 3 minutes, and voila! Ready to go!

I don’t eat a whole bowl at once, because it’s kind of a lot, so I take what I want and put the rest in a Tupperware container and keep it in the fridge. You can eat edamame hot or cold, but I prefer cold.

With fresh (not previously boiled or steamed) edamame, you boil or steam them for 4 or 5 minutes (add a little salt to the water if you boil them), run them under water to cool, then eat.

If you’ve never eaten edamame before, you might not know that the pods aren’t edible. After the edamame is steamed, you can either go through and scoop the edamame out of the pods into a bowl with your fingers and eat them all at once, or (this is what I do), squeeze the beans out of the pods with your teeth and eat as you go.

I’ve also seen packages of edamame in the produce section at Publix, and I believe I’ve heard that Costco carries them in their freezer section as well.

We’re going to grow our own edamame this summer!

Any other edamame questions?

After my hair appointment yesterday, I ran to Sam’s Club because we were completely out of Splenda, and getting dangerously low on edamame. While I was there, I picked up some blueberry bagels for the pigs, and a three-pound bag of about-to-go-bad grapes for the pigs and the chickens. I’d say we’re going to go broke feeding these pigs, but most of the stuff we (I) buy for them is the cheap stuff, and Fred’s got people at work bringing in stuff they’d ordinarily toss in the trash, which helps a lot.

Fred stopped by Wal-Mart the other day to see about getting their about-to-go-bad produce and day-old bread and stuff of that sort, but found out that they won’t do that, they can’t – company rules dictate that they have to toss all that stuff into a compactor and turning it into trash instead of giving it to someone to feed their livestock. Same with the local grocery store. Ridiculous, isn’t it?

When I got home, I went out to the pig yard to bring a bagel and some grapes and egg shells to them (yes, they eat egg shells), and they were at the very back of their yard. It took them a moment, but once they spotted me, they came at a run. They didn’t run right up to me, but it’s clear that they’ve made the person-entering-yard = FOOD IN OUR DISH connection. When they got about 15 feet away, they veered over to their food dish, sniffed around, and gave me expectant looks. I dumped the food in their dish and backed away.

They made very short work of that food, let me tell you.

Later, after Fred got home (with a box of Little Debbie snack cakes for the pigs – because, hey, that’s cheap stuff, too!) we went out there and coaxed the pigs to come close.. I’m not really interested in making friends with the pigs, because I’ve read how aggressive they can get, and I have no desire to become dinner, so I keep my distance most of the time. However, I think their ears are really neat, and so I wanted to touch them and see what they feel like. After a lot of hesitation, they finally came close enough that I could reach out and touch one of the big one’s ear and have my question answered.

They feel cartilage-y, like human ears. Go figure.

I don’t think Miss Momma and Newt have spent much time out near the pig yard since we got the pigs, but when we went out for a walk around the back forty the other night (before it rained and turned the back forty into a swamp), Miss Momma followed us out and sat near the pig yard, staring at them with big dark eyes. Hopefully she won’t try to go in there – I have a feeling that given a few more weeks, the pigs would enjoy a little kittycat tartare.

One of the many other women in my husband’s life. She LURVES Fred. She’ll lay next to him in the evening when we’re watching TV and just stare at him all evening long.

Previously
2007: Did I mention my hormones are all out of whack?
2006: “And they’ll have to call it Wipe the Ass!”
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: Want some cats?
2002: I had no idea what to say – “Well, of COURSE you’re only going to date someone you think is cute!”? Then I’m anti-ugly.
2001: Except for that crying at the drop of a hat thing, she’s just fine.
2000: Do y’all ever do that, have moments where the startling realization that you’re a complete dumbass smacks you in the face?

Man, what a crappy, dismal, rainy day we had yesterday. Half the back forty had standing water in it and when the pigs hadn’t shown themselves by 10:30, I went out to take them some food and check to make sure they were still there. I couldn’t see them, because they were buried under the straw, but I could see the straw moving a little, so I assumed they hadn’t escaped overnight, and was proven correct later on. The rain stopped for a little while, so the pigs came out to root around in their favorite spot (under the tree) before they went off to take yet another nap.

The temperature dropped 30 degrees between Monday and yesterday; I certainly can’t blame the pigs for spending their time snuggled up together in the straw, keeping warm, instead of out in the cold, wet field. I’ll be glad when the weather warms up for real.

 

Since I have nothing of interest to report, and I have to leave soon for a hair appointment (and a run to Sam’s), a meme! I stole it from somewhere (I don’t remember where) last week or the week before. I think. Anyway! On to the meme!

MOUTHOLOGY

Q. What is your favorite fast food restaurant? A. Depends on the meal. I like the occasional Egg McMuffin from McDonald’s for breakfast, and the occasional chicken sandwich from Burger King. If I’m in the mood for tacos, there’s always Taco Bell. I can’t really say any of them are my favorites. Unless Subway counts? Probably it does, so I’ll say Subway. I like to get a sandwich from Subway and spread it out over two (sometimes three, depending on the sandwich) meals.

Q. What is your favorite sit-down restaurant? A. If I have the choice of any restaurant in the world, I’m going to say The Muddy Rudder, in Yarmouth, Maine.

Q. On average, what size tip do you leave at a restaurant? A. 30 – 40%, generally. I almost always overtip.

Q. What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick of? A. Right now, I’ve got a little edamame addiction going on. I also eat scrambled eggs for breakfast almost every day. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of eggs.

Q. What are your pizza toppings of choice? A. Pepperoni, onions, and black olives.

Q. What do you like to put on your toast? A. I don’t eat toast, but if I had to I’d probably have jelly or a little peanut butter on it.

TECHNOLOGY

Q. What is your wallpaper on your computer? A. I actually had to go look – it’s this picture of Sugarbutt.

Q. How many televisions are in your house? A. One. Well, two if you include the one in the guest bedroom. Actually, now that I think about it, three if you include the one in the guest bedroom closet. Only one (the one in the living room) is hooked up to cable, though.

BIOLOGY

Q. Are you right-handed or left-handed? A. Right

Q. Have you ever had anything removed from your body? A. A (noncancerous) tumor, a baby, and a gallbladder.

Q. What is the last heavy item you lifted? A. Miz Poo!

Q. Have you ever been knocked unconscious? A. Nope, never.

BULL****OLOLY

Q. If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die? A. No.

Q. If you could change your name, what would you change it to? A. I can’t imagine having any other name, actually.

Q. What color do you think looks best on you? A. Dark purple. It makes my eyes “pop”, according to my sister!

Q. Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake? A. I have the unfortunate habit of swallowing little pieces of cross-stitching thread.

Q. Have you ever saved some one’s life? A. No

Q. Has someone ever saved yours? A. No.

DAREOLOGY

Q. Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100? A. Sure.

Q. Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000? A. I think so. It’d have to be my left pinky, though. Wait. Would it be the whole pinky, or would I be left a nubbin to assist when I’m typing? Doesn’t matter – I’m pretty sure I’d take $200,000 for a pinky, though.

Q. Would you never blog again for $50,000? A. Probably.

Q. Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000? A. I can’t imagine anyone would want to see that, but sure. Why not?

Q. Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000? A. There’s no way I could manage that.

Q. Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000? A. No.

DUMBOLOGY

Q: What is in your left pocket? A: I don’t wear pants that have pockets in them, actually.

Q: Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a good movie? A: I don’t know that I’d say “good.” I’d definitely go with “amusing”, though.

Q: Do you sit or stand in the shower? A: Stand.

Q: Could you live with roommates? A: Not unless I was desperate.

Q: How many pairs of flip flops do you own? A: None. I don’t like the strap that goes between your toes. It’s very irritating to me.

Q: Last time you had a run-in with the cops? A: I don’t have “run-ins” with cops.

Q: What do you want to be when you grow up? A: I think I’ve settled on being the crazy old lady who walks up and down the highway median picking up trash. Does that pay well?

LASTOLOGY

Q: Last Friend you talked to? A: Other than Fred, probably my sister.

Q: Last person who called you? Fred.

Q: Last person you saw? A: Fred!

FAVORITOLOGY

Q: Number? A: I don’t have one.

Q: Season? A: Spring or Fall.

CURRENTOLOGY

Q: Missing someone? A: Yes.

Q: Mood? A: Pretty good – a little rushed, though.

Q: Listening to? A: Sugarbutt snoring in the bed on my desk.

Q: Watching? A: Nothing – but keeping an eye out for the pigs.

Q: Worrying about? A: Remembering to get everything I need to get at Sam’s.

RANDOMOLOGY

Q: First place you went this morning? A: To the bathroom and then to clean out the litter boxes.

Q: What can you not wait to do? A: Go on a road trip!

Q: What’s the last movie you saw? A: Once. I really liked the music.

Q: Do you smile often? A: Yes.

Q: Are you a friendly person? A: Most of the time.

 

Every night beginning at 6:00, Sugarbutt gets up on the filing cabinet in front of the printer and waits. And waits. Sometimes the wait is so long and strenuous that he sits there, dozing. He knows that Snackin’! Time! is coming, but he’s not sure when. He’s decided that the best place to wait for Snackin’! Time! is on the filing cabinet, so that when I stand up from my desk and head for the kitchen, he can FLY! across the computer room and escort me into the kitchen. I might need help finding the plates or the cans of Snack!, you know.

************************

 

Previously
2007: “Yeah, it’s really fleein’ the interview,” Fred said.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: You suppose they’d mind if I went over after dark and pressed my face up against the window to see what’s going on?
2003: Maybe I should go for the dreadlocks look…
2002: Any resemblance to persons living or dead are completely coincidental. I don’t fart.
2001: every Mulvaney shat gold upon command three times a day.
2000: Here at casa bitchypoo, we believe in extremely lazy Sundays.

When I didn’t recognize a line he quoted from Alien (a movie I saw maybe once, and was probably not paying that much attention when I did), Fred said these words:

“My vast intellect is wasted on you.”

The pigs reported that he tasted “Too humany.”

 

Yesterday was bright and sunny and in the 70s, and about midmorning, after I’d taken some food (salad, carrots, grapes, bagel) out to the pigs, and after I’d filled the bird feeders and checked for eggs, I was walking across the back yard and I looked down at Sugarbutt, who was following me, and I said “It’s awfully windy out. It’d be a good day to do laundry!”

So I came inside and tossed a load of clothes in the washer.

An hour later, when the clothes were done washing, I took them outside to hang them on the clothesline, and that is when I realized that there was a shitload of paper and styrofoam blowing around our property and the property of the next two houses over. Recently, trucks for a local cable company have begun parking in the parking lot of the little strip mall across the street and down a little way. When I’d gone out to check the mail earlier, I’d noticed that some boxes with the cable company’s name emblazoned across them had started to blow across the land next to the strip mall parking lot. Apparently the boxes and styrofoam and paper had continued their journey across the road and onto our property.

I glanced across the street and saw that a man in a cable man uniform (you know the outfit I’m talking about) had come out and was picking the stuff off the land next to the parking lot. I figured that once he’d finished with that, he’d continue across the street and pick up the rest of his shit.

When I finished hanging out the clothes, the man in the cable man uniform was gone. And there was still shit all over our property and the property of the next two houses over.

I was a tad peeved. I started stomping around the property closest to the back yard picking up cable company work orders, pieces of styrofoam, plastic bags. When my arms were full, I stomped inside to get a garbage bag so that I could continue the cleanup. Fred happened to call at just that moment (to find out what the pigs were doing, naturally), and I bitched and ranted and raved to him. He told me to stop picking the shit up and sit tight while he made a phone call.

Unlike his wife, Fred does not back down from make phone calls wherein he says “Please come pick up your shit, thx.” He is, after all, the son of the man who called to complain that his trash had not been picked up on trash day and when the trash people were all “::Shrug::, I don’t know what to tell you! You gotta wait ’til next trash day!” he responded by saying “You come get this trash within the hour, or it’s going to be all over the mayor’s lawn, and you can explain to HER why that is.” (PS: Trash was gone in ten minutes.)

So he called and they were all apologetic (and freaked out when he said that he was holding a “receipt” – I myself would have referred to it as a “work order”, but same difference, I s’pose) and swore they’d send someone out to pick it all up.

Four hours later when he got home from work, no one had shown up to pick up the shit. He called and gave them hell again, and they promised they’d send someone out to take care of it. As of this morning, no one had bothered to show up, and most of the trash blew through our property onto the nursery property behind us.

The older I get, the less tolerance I have for fucking littering. I tossed my share of fast food cups out of car windows when I was a kid, but GODDAMN it pisses me off to drive down the highway to Closeville and see the median all shitted up with garbage. When we lived in Madison, there was an old man who’d walk up and down a nearby big road, picking up garbage. I can totally see myself getting fed up with all the fucking litter and spending my days walking up and down the median of the highway picking shit up.

Now there’s a career goal.

 

The pigs are doing well. Fred took down the hog panels on Sunday so they could have access to their entire pig yard (you keep them in a small area at first so they know where “home” is, apparently) and they haven’t gone too far from their shelter. Yesterday morning I saw neither hide nor hair of them until after 9. They came out, rooted around and ate for a while. When I went out there at 10:30, they’d gone back into the shelter for a nap.

It’s a rough life, I’m telling you.

I took them some leftover salad, grapes, carrots, and a bagel and put it in their food… dish. Trough, I guess? I spoke and called to them, and eventually the little one lifted his head up, sniffed, and said “We are napping, go away pls.” and burrowed back under the straw.

Ingrates.

For dinner we had Fred’s favorite meal of all time – scrambled eggs and homefries (cubed potatoes and onions, potatoes precooked in the microwave for 5 minutes before being cooked in a pan) – and because I’m no dummy I made extra homefries, and after dinner we made the rounds, gave the Girlz some leftover scrambled eggs, and took the rest of the leftovers out to the pigs.

Earlier, when he’d gotten home from work, Fred had convinced the little one to take a bagel out of his hand, so he tried to get him to take an english muffin out of his hand, but I think having both of us right there made them nervous, so we gave up on that and just dumped the leftover scrambled eggs and homefries in their food bowl. I can report that the leftovers were a big, big hit with the pigs. They both bellied right up and ate every last bit we’d given them.

These pigs are probably going to be the happiest, most well-fed pigs in the area. Hopefully their happiness will only make them that much more tasty.

*************************

Miz Poo in the sun.

*************************

 

Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: Dumbass things I did yesterday.
2004: I think I need to go back to high school.
2003: “Well, good luck to Daddy on that,” I said.
2002: (You just shut up)
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

New month, new logo! This was created by Aly. Thanks, Aly!!!

 

It was sunny and 70 here yesterday, and I am NOT complaining. It was one of those cloudless days where you see nothing but blue sky (in the morning, at least – big white fluffy clouds moved in in the afternoon) and makes me realize “Hey. THIS is why it’s nice to live in Alabama!”

I held t-posts for Fred while he drove them into the ground with a sledgehammer, same thing we did last week, actually – only last week I was bundled up in a very warm jacket and boots, and yesterday I realized pretty quickly that a short-sleeved t-shirt rather than the long-sleeved one I was wearing would have been fine.

There were no breaks in the pig shelter this time around, though. If you don’t read Fred ordinarily, you should read his account of bringing the pigs home, and then yesterday he posted about a thousand pig pictures.

I will tell y’all this – I didn’t get out of the car at all at the place where Fred and Mr. Egg put the pigs in the carriers, I didn’t approach the pens at all, I didn’t go near the carriers (which were on a tarp in the back of the car; I was in the front seat), and yet when we got home, I walked into the house and started to pull off the jacket I was wearing, and realized it smelled like pig shit. I pulled off my jacket and put it on the washer to wash, and realized my SHIRT smelled like pig shit. My pants smelled like pig shit. My HAIR smelled like pig shit. I stripped down and took a long, hot shower and then had to wash everything Fred and I had both been wearing. In fact, I had to wash everything twice, because after the first run-through, Fred’s clothes still smelled faintly of pig shit.

Merely marinating in the stench of bitty baby pigs for half an hour or so caused me and everything I had on me (and with me – including my PURSE) to absorb the smell.

That, my friends, is a powerful stench. And it wasn’t a pleasant one.

The pigs, however, once some of the pig poop was rinsed off them, began smelling quite a bit better. They’re awfully cute, even if they’re scared of us, and they’re pretty entertaining, especially when they start rubbing their little pig butts against their shelter to scratch an itch.

We thought they were both girls, but upon further consideration, Fred thinks they might both be boys. At this point we’re calling them “The Big One” and “The Little One” – the little one’s about half the size of the big one, but the big one’s the scaredest. We’re probably going to end up naming them something like “Ham” and “Bacon”, because supposedly if you’re going to name them, you should give them a food name so you think of them as food rather than a pet.

I offer for your consideration that one of the few named chickens we have was named “Fricasee” after food, and she’s the only chicken that will, I can state without a doubt, die of natural causes.

 

Playing Scrabble on Facebook last night, I said to Fred, “It saddens me that “Deveuten” is not a word. I’d get 90 points for it!”

When playing Scrabble and Scramble on Facebook, if no word choices make themselves readily apparent, I quickly enter “I wonder if this is a word?”, so I give it a try. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

But apparently “Deveuten” is not a word. Damnit.

(Neither is “Teuwin”. In case you wondered.)

 

Friday afternoon I made Not Yo’ Momma’s Banana Pudding as recommended by several of you. DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL.

I was worried that Fred wouldn’t like it, because he was all “It DOESN’T have ‘nilla wafers? That’s not BANANA PUDDING, that’s a TRAVESTY!”

Of course I tried the pudding part when I was assembling it, and it was good, but I finished assembling it and put it in the fridge, and we didn’t get around to giving it a try until after dinner.

Fred took two bites of it, and he said “Oh, we’ve GOT to make this for Christmas!” Fred’s almost always the one to bring dessert to Christmas dinner, and to have him say that we needed to bring some next year for Christmas was a clear sign that it met with his wholehearted approval.

That stuff is SO FREAKIN’ GOOD. I cut calories where I could, by using skim milk and reduced-fat cream cheese and reduced-fat Cool Whip (I don’t use fat-free of either of those because they taste like plastic, and you will never convince me to use fat-free ANYTHING, so save your breath), but at a certain point you just have to throw your hands up and give in to the inevitable.

The tasty, tasty inevitable.

My only gripe is that it makes an incredible amount of banana pudding and it seemed like the more we ate, the more there was. We ended up splitting about half of it between the chickens and the pigs because we didn’t want to eat so much of it that we’d get sick of it. I wonder if it’s freezable? That’s an experiment worth trying, I’d say.

 

We left the house together an unprecedented THREE TIMES on Saturday. First, we went to the movie store because we didn’t have anything to watch. We wanted to get the first disc of The Office, season one. Except that the movie store didn’t have The Office – it didn’t have any seasons of The Office, I don’t know why. We ended up getting three movies and then came home for dinner. I thought we’d end up starting to watch TV early, but after dinner, when Fred was out communing with the pigs or something, I heard a great big loud echoing WHUMP!, and when I investigated, I discovered that the wire shelf in my closet, the one holding all my clothes, had decided to give way.

I took all the clothes off the shelf, which was hanging halfway out of the closet, and Fred came back in, investigated, and declared it was a too-many-clothes-hanging-on-it issue. I went through my clothes, pulled out the stuff I never wear (most of which will end up on the Giveaway page), pulled out more stuff that I’ve been meaning to return to LL Bean, and after Fred fixed the shelf, hung everything back up.

Fred was on the phone with his father and I was hanging clothes up when the shelf gave way again, and I made him come look. We ended up leaving the house a second time to go to Lowe’s, and while we were there getting more supports for the shelf, we bought blinds for my room and a rug to put on the floor in front of the sink.

Home, Fred fixed the shelf in my closet, and I was doing Snackin’! Time! for the cats when he came and asked if we could run to Staples. His mouse, which had been acting up for several months, finally gave up the ghost and since we had no extras around, we had to go buy one.

In the car on the way home from Staples, Summer Nights came on the radio, and Fred was overcome by the music, and he clapped his hands gaily in the air, and can he just clap his hands gently in a non-eardrum-bursting manner? He cannot. I gave him a dirty look, and he pointed his finger at me and said “Don’t start with me!”, and I smacked him upside the head, and he lied in a whining manner about how I’d hit him in the eye. In fact, I believe he whined all the damn way home, because he’s a big singing, clapping, whining dork.

Also on Saturday, I realized that the reason my boots weren’t keeping my feet dry is because they’d split along one side, so I need to get some new boots. I’m considering these.

Annnnd… what else? On Sunday it was gorgeous and sunny, and I didn’t have to do laundry, because I did the laundry on Saturday because it was gorgeous and sunny on Saturday and I didn’t know it was going to be gorgeous and sunny a second day in a row, so there was no laundry to be done on Sunday. I went and got groceries, and I balanced the checkbook and I followed the cats around and incessantly asked what they were doing, and I went out and took a thousand pictures of the pigs (and said about a million times “They are so CUTE!”) and we had steak and salad for dinner and at dusk we walked around the back forty and watched the pigs eat.

And all is well at Crooked Acres.

Bath time for Sugarbutt.

 

Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: “MmmHMMM, I KNEW that was going to happen, the dumb bitch was lifting shit long before she was supposed to!”
2005: By the way, Erika: who watches your kids while you’re busy reading PEOPLE and firing off those indignant letters?
2004: You all have to refer to me as “Journaler and (soon-to-be-published) AUTHOR Ethan Hawke Robyn And3rson” from now on. I insist!
2003: Ah, you poor damn AOL users.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: See? I always say “Thank you” to the freaking servers at fast food places. Yet all I get in return is rudeness.

(There’s an entry for yesterday, in case you missed it.)

I am such a dog person, but lately you have made me wonder if I’d like a cat in my house? It’s really weird that reading you makes me want a cat. It’s something to think about…wonder if my dachshund would freak if I brought a cat home?

You would not be the first person who ended up getting a cat after reading my site. I can’t say whether your dachshund would freak out over a cat, but dogs and cats have been known to get along (it always helps if the cat has a spot to get away from the dog – and vice versa), but of course it’s not guaranteed, it always depends on the personality of the dog and the cat.

 

Does Joe Bob have “thumbs” (extra toes?) or does it just look that way in the picture?

I am sad to report that none of our cats have extra toes. Which is too bad, because I think those extra-toed cats are kind of cool. Maybe our next cat will be a polydactyl!

 

How often do you dust and vacuum each week? (I’m trying to start a new schedule for myself)

In a perfect world, I vacuum on Saturday and Wednesday, and dust twice a week. In the real world, I vacuum on Saturday or Sunday (and run the Roomba two or three days during the week) and dust whenever I can force myself to do so. I loathe dusting more than just about any other household chore, and I’ve been known to go weeks between dusting, until Fred writes “Dust me” in the dust on all horizontal surfaces.

 

We have recently been taking care of a stray cat. I know she has worms. (don’t ask) Recently her belly has gotten really big – I don’t know if she is pregnant or its because of the worms, and she has liquid poop. (big sigh) AND her little butt hole place seems a bit puckered. MY QUESTION IS… I remember the vet violating sugar butts butt and saying something about a gland? Can you point me to that entry or remind me what he said?

Sugarbutt had impacted anal glands, which had to be expressed (ie, squeezed) by the vet. It was a painful but necessary experience for him. Signs of impacted anal glands in cats: Affected pets may lick the anal area, ‘scoot’ along the floor, or have problems with defecation.

 

Like Joe Bob and Mister Boogers, I also get very excited when it’s Snackin’ Time.

It’s no coincidence that my own Snackin’ Time takes place directly after the cats’ Snackin’ Time. Everyone needs a nightly Snackin’ Time!

 

Your 40 year old knees might need some glucosamine and chondroitin.

Yeah, I’ve been taking glucosamine/ chondroitin for about six months now. My knees were feeling fine until I apparently stressed them by suddenly exercising after doing none for months. After two days of rest, they’re feeling a lot better, but my right knee still hurts more than I’d like. LE SIGH.

 

Robyn, when you were a teenager, fantasizing about adulthood, did the image of you standing outside screaming at a cat whilst kicking the shit out of a chicken coop ever come to mind?

Anita, when I was a teenager, I knew for certain that if any screaming at a cat and chicken coop-kicking was to be done, my husband Donny Osmond would hire someone to do it for me whilst I lounged in bed and ate bonbons.

Also, I’m pretty sure it never occurred to me that I would be happy: 1. In the country, 2. Owning 630 cats, 3. Having to trudge through chicken poop and check for eggs every day, and 4. Canning and freezing our own food, let alone looking forward to owning PIGS. Thank god Teenage Robyn doesn’t get to pull the strings, is all I have to say.

 

The running around like their asses are afire … do they do that INSIDE too?

Oh, HELL yes. Every evening, as the time approaches Snackin’ Time (7:00), the cats get more and more agitated and more and more active until they’re racing around, fighting, jumping off furniture, chasing invisible pieces of dust and just generally being pains in the ass. After Snackin’ Time they calm down for a little while, then race around a little more, race around at various times during the night (though they’re usually fairly quiet at night, thank god), and then when I get up in the morning they commence to race like the hellions they are. Thank god they nap more than they race around; I couldn’t take 24-hour racing around.

 

And Robyn, why dincha make HIM drive the movies to the Post Office? I’da been all, “Oh, honey, while you’re out will you pick me up some whatever/fill up the tank/do this other errand I don’t want to do?” “While I’m out doing what?” “Taking those movies that I didn’t remind you about to the post office.”

Because it made me feel holier-than-thou to stomp around and make my point, of course!

 

Why didn’t Fred just let the kitties eat the yogurt? Two of my three love yogurt. I’ve never let them have most of a carton, though. They’re lucky to get a spoonful each when I’ve eaten 99% of it.

‘Cause I lied, and it was ice cream, not yogurt. And the ice cream had chocolate in it, and chocolate’s not good for cats. 🙂

 

I think you mentioned you use T-Mobile in a past update. What search words do you use on ebay to look for phones that will work with T Mobile? I am FOREVER replacing phones here. We have 4 in this family. Btwn oops and worn out parts I HATE waiting for a upgrade or paying full price for a new phone. Or GOD forbid extending my contract AGAIN! Any tips, I would be thankful.

Readers, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe any “unlocked” phone can be used with any SIM card. Is that right?

In any case, an eBay search on “T-Mobile cell phone” brings up a bunch of different kind of cells, so it wouldn’t hurt to give that a try!

 

Oh man! I was rooting for Punki to stay. Where did my mojo go?????!!! Where will they go if they’re not happy in their new homes? Does the group you work with do home visits to confirm that they’re being treated well?

The shelter has a lifelong policy that any cat ever adopted from them can be returned to them, whether it’s been a few days or weeks, or years and years. They don’t do home visits (they really just don’t have the manpower for that), but I believe it’s written into the contract that they could just show up and ask to see the cat if they so desired. The adoption counselors are really good at their jobs, and I’m pretty sure that the cats go into good homes.

That said, after I found out that Punki had been adopted, I was REALLY regretting letting her go and not keeping her. I regret it a little less now, but if she were returned, I don’t think I’d even ask Fred before I brought her home for good.

 

My Siamese, Simon, always puts a couple of pieces of his dry cat food into his water bowl. WHY? Is it so he can see the water level? Is he telling me he’d prefer boullion to water? By the time I get home from work, there are hugely swollen disgusting pieces of kibble floating around and falling apart in his damn water bowl! It’s making me KUH-RAZY!

Like a couple of other commenters mentioned, it could be that in the process of “killing” his food, some of it goes into the water. Or maybe he’s one of those cats who likes the softened food. Does he eat any of the food that goes into the water, or does it just sit there? Like you mentioned, it’s also possible he’s having a hard time seeing the top of the water, so floating pieces of food help with that. We used to cut up a colored straw and put a couple of pieces in the water bowl so the cats could tell where the water began. Can’t hurt to give it a try!

 

What do you think of the new Survivor? I have just 2 words to describe Joel on the Fan Team: ROID RAGE. He takes himself way too seriously and I would laugh at him if he was not just a little ca-razy scary with the rage thing.

I’m actually really enjoying this new season of Survivor; this is the first season in at least a couple of years where I pay complete attention to what’s going on rather than flipping through a magazine while it’s on.

Joel reminds me a LOT of Ogre from Revenge of the Nerds, and I half-expect him to clench his meaty fists and bellow “FAVES! FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVES!” at the other team during challenges.

Chet looks A LOT like Robin Gibb to me.

Also, Mikey B looks like Luke Wilson.

I don’t, at this point, have any hands-down favorites, but I’m enjoying the show a lot!

 

Good news on the adoptions! I’ve been meaning to ask, what ever happened to Jack Frost?

After being adopted and returned a couple of times, Jack Frost was finally adopted for good!

 

Do your cats eat flowers? I find that whenever I have flowers in the house, the cats will practically kill themselves to eat them. One of my cats will munch on the flowers, turn his head to barf up poorly chewed leaves, then immediately resume consuming my bouquet. I have to lock the flowers in a spare bathroom when I leave the house to protect them, and I also sit with a squirt bottle because those effers think they can chew on my flowers right in front of my face. Is this normal? Do I really have to choose between my kitties and fresh flowers?

Not only do I never have fresh flowers in the house, I had to get rid of my last plant too, because the shitheads were digging around in the dirt and making a mess. You very well might have to choose between your cats and fresh flowers, unless you have a place where you can put flowers that the cats can’t get to (I’ve considered putting a shelf just large enough for a vase of flowers on a wall in the living room, but I’m not confident enough that the cats wouldn’t figure out how to get to it!).

 

Right around the time I started reading you, I also started reading a blog by someone named Shelley. She wrote a HILARIOUS entry about Assless Chaps Man (complete with Assless Chaps Pictures) and she had a hairless guinea pig. Do you know if she still has a blog out there anywhere?

That was Shelley at Shelleyness.com, and unfortunately, she’s not blogging anymore. I miss her EVERY DAMN DAY, do you hear me, Shelley? Come back to us! The internet needs youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

 

My 10 month old cat used to suck on my hands and shirt when she was a kitten and while she no longer does that regularly, she likes to crawl under my covers while I’m sleeping and suck on my back, which is really gross and wakes me up. Why would she do that? Do you have any sucking cats or did I get stuck with a weirdo?

I’m fairly certain it’s the sort of thing that results from being weaned too soon – Sugarbutt used to do it, but he’s pretty much grown out of it. I’ve heard of other cats who do it their entire lives, so I’d say your cat might grow out of it, or she might not. She’s not a weirdo, though, it’s pretty common.

I just looked around and found this page, which says:

There are three factors that may explain the development of this behavior:

1. While pica is common in many breeds, the intelligent and sensitive Siamese, Burmese, and Himalayan breeds all inherit common genes which seem to carry the urge to wool-suck or chew.
2. Also, premature weaning appears to predispose some cats to this behavior. This may also explain why the Oriental breeds are more likely to exhibit this behavior. The Oriental breeds tend to nurse longer (16 weeks) than their mixed-breed cousins (8-10 weeks), leading to a greater postweaning drive to suckle. However, even a mixed breed kitten that is weaned early will have a strong drive to nurse and may displace that drive into ritualized oral activities.
3. Stress appears to be a major factor triggering these behaviors as the sucking and chewing activities may not be performed until the cat is well into adulthood. Perhaps it could be compared to thumb-sucking or nail-biting in humans.

It goes on to offer solutions to stop the behavior if it’s bothersome, so you might give one of those a try.

 

Does the Pur water dispenser make the water taste better? I should buy one because I refuse to drink the water from my faucet. I don’t like having to buy water all the time.

It absolutely does – it removes that chemical “tap” taste from the water, and it makes the water taste great!

 

Is snackin time the only time they eat? Or is that when they get the canned food and they also have dry food out all the time? Do they eat people food?

No, Snackin’ Time’s when they have their canned food (two small cans of food divided amongst 9 cats – though the pigs (Mister Boogers, Joe Bob, Stinkerbelle) get quite a bit more than their fair share!)). They always have dry food available to them (three different kinds, OF COURSE). Some of them will occasionally eat human food, though we don’t really offer them human food too often. If we’re having chicken, Mister Boogers will howl and howl and howl until you give him a piece. Sugarbutt will jump up on the counter and eat dry oatmeal in the morning when Fred is getting his breakfast and lunch together to take to work with him. Last night, Tommy ate a bran flake, if you can believe it. Apparently Tommy believes in being regular. Joe Bob and Stinkerbelle will eat human food if you offer it to them, but they don’t demand it the way Spot used to. If there’s any dairy being eaten, Spanky hangs around looking inquisitive until you’re done and offer him your bowl to lick. The only cat who absolutely will not eat any human food at all aside from the juice from a can of tuna is Miz Poo. Chicken, steak, fish, dairy, the girl is not interested in the slightest.

Wow. That’s probably WAY overanswering your question, isn’t it? 🙂

 

who is now the oldest Anderson cat? In years and/or length of service. And I know I could do some research but I’m busy getting my house ready to sell. OK. I’m also rather lazy.

That would be Spanky, who’s 11 1/2 years old – Fred gave him to me as a Christmas present the first Christmas I was here. I can’t believe he’s so old! Miz Poo is next, at 8 1/2 years old – she’s another one we got around the holidays; I brought her home the day before Thanksgiving 1999. After her is Mister Boogers, at almost 5 years old. Tommy and Sugs are almost three years old – we’ve had them since they were itty bitty. Miss Momma is, and this is a total guesstimate, about four years old and Newt is around two, we think. Miss Stank will be one at the end of March, and we’ve had her since she was a little thing, too. Joe Bob (who I am calling “Jobey” – or “Joe B.”, I guess – more and more lately) will be three at the end of June.

The cats are actually listed in the left sidebar in the order in which we acquired them!

 

Miz Poo watches forlornly from the back yard as I feed the chickens and check for eggs. (flickr)

 

Previously
2007: No 29th.
2006: No 29th.
2005: No 29th.
2004: No entry.
2003: No 29th.
2002: No 29th.
2001: No 29th.
2000: Honest to god, am I the most spoiled wifey you’ve ever seen, or what?

This Sunday-through-Thursday-night posting thing isn’t working for me. I’ll post the comment-answering extravaganza tomorrow morning, and go back to the old Monday-through-Friday morning posting next week.

So if you’ve got questions, ask ’em!

 

Fred wrote a truer (and far funnier) account of why we (HE) needed Q-tips to clean between the floorboards.

He asked me to proofread the letter (yes, he really did send it to the founder of the company, and I hope the guy has a good sense of humor, because a letter like that deserves to be appreciated by the recipient) and when I got to the part where he talks about Mister Boogers, something about the so-very-casual mention of the cats name just cracked me up and I laughed until I cried.

Most of the time, the fact that we have a cat named Mister Boogers (and one named Sugarbutt, for that matter) doesn’t really strike me as all that funny. That’s just his NAME, I don’t really think about it, but the idea of a complete stranger receiving a letter and reading that we have a cat named Mister Boogers just hits my funnybone for some reason.

And yes, I AM getting a sewing machine – this one, to be exact. Y’all were pretty much unanimous that I should stay away from Singer and go for a Kenmore, and after some consideration (and an email from fellow not-much-of-a-seamstress Styro), I decided to go for it.

I’ve already told Fred I could probably make my own curtains – how hard can it be to whip up some valances, right? (When I’m swearing up a storm because I fucked up yet another set of curtains, remind me I said that, would you?) Hopefully the hardest part will be finding fabric I like. I hope so, at least!

 

I went to the recycling center today for the first time in about two weeks. Surprisingly (not), when you don’t use four 20-ounce plastic bottles a day, the recycling tends not to pile up. I know I mentioned that I bought some 1-liter Sigg bottles back in December with the intention of reducing the amount of trash I generate on a regular basis. Unfortunately, what I should have done was order 20-ounce Sigg bottles, because I just don’t care for the 1-liter size. So I’ve been using 20-ounce plastic water bottles for a week at a time before I recycle them. We got a Pur water dispenser I keep in the fridge in the laundry room (the filter that you can attach to your kitchen faucet wouldn’t fit so we went with the dispenser instead) and I fill the bottles from that.

Anyway, I was able to put off going to the recycling center for about two weeks, and the majority of the recycling were the cans of cat food from Snackin’ Time. Damn those cats and their Snackin’ Time.

After the recycling center I stopped by the bank to make a deposit and then to Big L0ts. Before we moved to Smallville, I had never once stepped foot into a Big L0ts, and now I go by there every other week or so. I never buy much there, but if they’ve got cans of compressed air I generally snatch them up, and I like taking a walk through the food section (a box of Cheerios for $2? Yes, please!) and the cleaning section and the kitchen section. It’s a good store to browse in, and I never spend very much money because everything is so damn cheap.

I was disappointed to find that they didn’t have any egg noodles though, damnit. How’m I going to make chicken noodle casserole without egg noodles?

Which reminds me. Anyone out there got a good chicken noodle casserole recipe? Something simple? I saw a recipe on the back of the box of cornflake crumbs for tuna noodle casserole, only I don’t eat tuna (because even contemplating eating tuna reminds me of when I was 8 or 9. At the time, I ate tuna a LOT. One day I took a bowl of tuna (mixed with mayo, of course) out of the fridge, took the top off the bowl and saw a dead fly floating in the pool of mayo around the edge of the bowl, and if that’s not the last time I ate tuna, you could probably count the number of times I’ve eaten tuna since on one hand) so I thought I’d substitute chicken for the tuna, and then I promptly threw the freakin’ box away and thus have no recipe.

Yes, I could Google up a recipe, but I’d rather one of you point me toward a recipe you’ve used and like.

Speaking of food, damn you, Ali. That Paula Deen recipe you linked looks so damn good I have no choice but to make it, possibly even this weekend. My arteries curse you as well. And damn those of you who mentioned the banana pudding recipe, because I might have to make that as well. DAMN YOU ALL.

I left Big Lots, got home, did some laundry (since it was a bright and sunny day, why not hang the towels out to dry? Nothing I love more than using a towel that smells like sunshine.), stalked the cats (who were in the back yard) with the camera, filled the bird feeders, took a thousand pictures of cats and chickens, fed the chickens some cracked corn, and just puttered around the house.

Then I plunked my ass on the couch and watched TV while I cross-stitched.

A totally relaxing day. I love days like that!

 

(flickr) 9:13 am:
Momma: “What doin’, Skittyboo? What it do?”
Spanky: “Nothin’.”

(flickr) 11:22 am:
Momma: “What doin’, Skittyboo? What it do?”
Spanky: “NOTH. ING.”

(flickr) 12:55 pm:
Momma: “What doin, Skittyboo?”
Spanky: “Jesus goddamn motherfucking christ WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I’M DOING? DO I APPEAR TO BE LUNCHING WITH HILARY CLINTON AND DISCUSSING HER PLANS FOR HEALTH CARE? AM I SAVING A SMALL CHILD FROM A BURNING BUILDING? DO I LOOK LIKE I’M GIVING A PRESENTATION TO THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF SCIENCE ABOUT STRING THEORY? I AM DOING NOTHING. NOTHING. NOTH. ING. I AM STROLLING AROUND THE BACK YARD TRYING TO ENJOY THE DAY AND YOU KEEP BABBLING GODDAMN NONSENSE AT ME, DEMANDING TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I’M DOING. DO YOU NOT HAVE ENOUGH TO DO? DO I NEED TO FIND SOMETHING FOR YOU TO DO? SHALL I WORK UP A MULTIPLE ROOM SHITTING SPREE? WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME? WHAT? WHAT? NOW I UNDERSTAND WHY MISTER BOOGERS KEEPS TRYING TO RUN AWAY, IT’S TO ESCAPE THE CONTINUAL “What doin’? What doin’? What doin’?” LEAVE ME ALONE! GOD!”

(flickr) 1:38 pm:
Momma: “What doin’, Skittyboo? What it do?”
Spanky: “Please god, help me make it to and over the fence before her tiny little brain figures out what the hell I’m doing.”

 

Previously
2007: Who knew that Hellcats enjoy ripping eyeballs from your face and then batting them around the room?
2006: Yeah, one of those days.
2005: So sue me.
2004: Always.
2003: What keeps me sane.
2002: No entry.
2001: Plants.
2000: Translation: I’m going to get a gown that will cover your fat ass.