Excuse me, sir, have you been taking any recreational drugs?

What that really means is, "dude, are you HIGH?!" On the ambulance, that is not a question I particularly love asking. At home one day, though, I didn't even need to ask...

I could see the evidence. Toys were strewn everywhere. The sound of thundering feet tearing through the house could be heard. Even a few branches had been broken off of my palm tree.

When I finally caught up to him, I could see it. His little eyes were dialated. He was breathing fast and hard and could barely sit still. Then and there, I knew the answer......



He had been into the catnip.

The Ornamental Mystery

One morning, I woke up and made my way to the living room to ready for the baby's arrival. Laying on the couch was a handmade dove ornament from the tree. Odd, I thought. I was quite sure that our ornaments did not have the capability of flying off the tree on there own, but I had other things on my mind, so I replaced the dove and carried on. A little later, I was sitting in the recliner, enjoying a hot cup of coffee, and I glanced over at the tree. What did I find but an empty socket on the strand of lights!! DEFINITELY odd. I KNOW that our lights do not get up in the middle of the night and hop off the tree. I looked around the tree to see if I could figure out what was going on and discovered the runaway light bulb and a couple more ornaments hiding on the floor under the tree. WHAT had gotten into my Christmas decorations??



Suddenly, a small orange thing jumped out at me from under the tree... The cat! Crumb-Crumb found many fun playthings on the Christmas tree and began removing lights and ornaments for his entertainment. I shook my head and put the tree back together, and later caught him playing with the red ball by the formerly missing light bulb. *sigh*



*disclaimer: No ornaments or Christmas lights were harmed in the (still) filming of this post.

Meet Harry Crumb

This is Harry Crumb. He was rescued two-and-a-half months ago from under the porch at my in-laws' house and spared the life of a feral cat. Instead, he is a spoiled and rambunctious, yet very well loved, mostly-indoor kitty. He is often referred to as "Crumb," "Crumb-Crumb," or just "Kitty," and when he isn't playing with the most random things around the house, he can be found curled up with the dog or on our bed. He makes a fantastic little heater at night.

You may wonder why I am introducing him to you after all this time... Well, you see, I have no doubt that there will be at least one post in the near future involving Crumb-Crumb, and I thought it best for you to have already met him before you read of his adventures, but hopefully no misadventures!

The Hazards of Dirt Bike Riding

The Boy and The Girl went out to ride their dirt bikes the other day in the gravel pit located behind and up the hill from our house. Shortly after they left, I heard the sound of ONE motorcycle returning, and then The Boy burst in the door.

"MOM! MOM! PLEASE! I NEED YOUR CAMERA!" he shouted.

"Uh, Bud, where's your sister?"

"MOM! Seriously, please! I need it right away! I'll only have it for a minute!"

"Bud, your sister...."

"Mom! There'safoxnexttohisdeninthegravelpitandhe'sjustsittingtherelookingatusandIwanttotakeapictureofitpleasemayIuseyourcamerareallyreallyquickplease!"

Yes, it all came out that fast. "Boy! Where. Is. Your. Sister."

"She's still riding around in the gravel pit, keeping an eye on the fox! And, MOM! I got really really really close to it, close enough to touch, and it didn't run away!!"

Fantastic. Just what a protective mother wants to hear. I haven't been so "countryfied" that the thought of wild animals near my children does not send my heart into freaked-out spasms. Despite the heart palpitations , I took a deep breath and handed the camera to my dear son, with strict instructions to NOT WRECK while in possession of mommy's beloved camera. With a quick "I promise" and a blur of not-so-little feet, he was off, motor racing to get back to the fox before it no longer felt like being an object of intense scrutiny from "little" people.

Several tense minutes later, the sound of two motorcycles made it's way to my ears, and I breathed a sigh of relief. They could not drive their motorcycles down the hill very well if they were maimed. Right? The Boy came rushing in to show me the pictures, and as he looked at them with me, he commented, "well, that stinks! I was a whole lot closer to him than the picture shows!"

Thanks, Bud, I appreciate that piece of information. Have you ever heard of "TMI"? Trust me, this qualifies.

Progress

Remember the chickens? Well, we are down to a total of EIGHT. One rooster (yes, it did turn out that Drumstick is a rooster and he is the ONE that.... survived.... The rest were..... tasty.) Out of all those sweet, fluffy little chicks, SEVEN were hens. *sigh* The other day we finally got one egg per hen.


Aren't they pretty?? Now if they will keep up the good work!

New Additions

We've learned a few things in the last month:

Number one, bunnies that are still rather small CAN and WILL get pregnant. Oops.

Number two, male bunnies will eat little tiny baby bunnies. BIG oops. Maybe that lesson should have been in the "number one" section, and the "number one" lesson should be moved to "number two." I am not really sure, there, since both lessons happened simultaneously.

Those two lessons learned, we promptly examined the other bunnies in our possession and discovered a second pregnant female. We immediately removed her from the pen with the others and brought her inside, where she remained for a few weeks in her own private cage in the pantry. During those first two weeks, I began to second guess myself. Perhaps this beautiful gray bunny was not pregnant, just obese. It is possible for a bunny to get fat, isn't it? Day after day passed, and still no babies. Then one night, this beautiful gray bunny began to act so strange. She was losing her downy "under-fur" and every time we would peek in on her, she had strips of newspaper sticking out of both sides of her mouth. What on earth was she doing? Not only is she fat, but she's losing her mind, too? Great. A psychotic rabbit. Just what I need. The next morning we peeked in on her and discovered that this nest-like mound in the corner of her cage was... squirming... BABIES! I was so grateful... She was not fat, and she was not crazy.


The babies are now a couple weeks old and have made the move back outside. Batman revamped the pen, creating five little cubbyholes, one for each bunny, with the middle cubby housing mommy and babies.


This was their last morning indoors. They looked quite comfortable lounging on the love seat, and I was greatly tempted to go buy a litter box, pick my favorite baby, and keep it indoors. Batman swiftly told me NO. Spoilsport. Ah well.... The babies and "grownups" can be visited outside, I suppose.

The Frenchman

We have a rooster that has guaranteed his space at our homestead.... Why? I just like the look of him. I think his lop-sided crown makes him look like a little Frenchman wearing a beret. He's even taking a bow - it's all very sophisticated.


















That's my take anyway.

There are others, however, who don't share the Frenchman sentiment. They say that perhaps he is..... um..... ahem..... handicapped and it isn't a French style crown, but rather a............... defect. Ahem.






















It has been said that rather than hearing "Cock-a-doodle-dooooooo" out of him, we might hear "Doodle-lada-cooooooock." What I DO know is that, Frenchman or unfortunate rooster, when he does crow, it is a short and sweet "Cock-a-doooooo." Very nice. He's a keeper.

Meet Drumstick

Yes, I said "Drumstick."

Yes, Drumstick is a CHICKEN.

Yes, I see the irony. The kids named her. Rumor has it that the ugliest/smallest chickens are usually the best layers. Here's hoping.....

Drumstick feels she is a member of the family. Perhaps after the kids named her, she realized the connotations of her name and decided she better integrate herself into our family a little more. I'll give you an example....

Thursday the kids were outside at the picnic table doing school. Drumstick hopped up on the bench next to T and watched for a couple minutes.



















She then proceed to get in T's lap and "read" with her.




















She wandered away for a couple minutes only to return to T and watch her put her hair up.



















After spending a few more minutes with T, she wandered a couple feet over on the bench and perched next to JT and observed his "math class".




















Drumstick loves all four of us and has no qualms about parking next to the dog, either. She is more than happy to follow us around, weaving in and around our legs, and is even happier to be CARRIED around.

Dear God, PLEASE don't let this chicken be a rooster in disguise and PLEASE make her the best layer we have. I don't think I would have the heart to eat her. Amen.