Mr. Pants, for romance, is not. Which is a lyric from the old song 'It's Too Darn Hot'. It got up to 90 today: I spent all day at work worrying about the chickens. But misting the coop in the morning does seem to help, although they both regard the hose with arch skepticism and mutters of 'oh no' since I used it on them the night they really tore up the new garden. Which, of course, makes me feel like crap. Around 8:00, the temperature noticably dropped and big bruisy clouds moved in. Thunderstorm!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Love, love, love big weather, probably because I'm living up here in the land of temperance and we don't get it very often, other than the seasonal flood here and there.
The yellow house is the neighbors to the south of me. At night, it often serves as beautiful contrast as the evening colors change. The people who dwell in it, well, meh. I'll bitch about them at some later date. The wooden fish was carved by the girley-man who lives there: he's a woodworker, apparently, and the fish along with others was perched on the fence that (thankfully) divides us. It would fall into my yard, I would put it back up, it would fall down, and so it went, until this year when I was casting about for garden 'art', I found it behind one of my plum trees, so it's mine now. It points directly to the house I appropriated it from.
The yellow house is the neighbors to the south of me. At night, it often serves as beautiful contrast as the evening colors change. The people who dwell in it, well, meh. I'll bitch about them at some later date. The wooden fish was carved by the girley-man who lives there: he's a woodworker, apparently, and the fish along with others was perched on the fence that (thankfully) divides us. It would fall into my yard, I would put it back up, it would fall down, and so it went, until this year when I was casting about for garden 'art', I found it behind one of my plum trees, so it's mine now. It points directly to the house I appropriated it from.
The new garden experiment continues to be tweaked. The thing about chickens in the garden: as my friend Chicken Vickie said mournfully: They just ruin everything. Yes, in their allotted roles as nature's roto-tillers, they can do some damage, but basically, they damage is not catastrophic with established plants. I will be able to relax my guard once these plants take root. This weekend I'm breaking up the triangle and putting paths in between. Because, like another old song goes: How you gonna keep them down on the farm, after they've seen Pareeeeeee!!! And they've sampled that tasty loose dirt and now every night I'm tensed up waiting for the next chicken assault.
Ester took the dirt bath to top all dirt baths last night. I'd had a plant there, that wasn't making it, so I yanked it, so there was all that loose, cool dirt. She spent close to an hour in it. The area was surrounded by bricks and only big enough for one chicken. Beulah tried to get in, failed, and stood over Ester for a while eating the dirt on her feathers until she got bored and wandered off. My camera battery was charging and I missed it. 
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