Serious stuff tomorrow

There is plenty of serious stuff to blog about...and I intend to resume doing so. Tomorrow.

For tonight, at least it's nice to live in a world where cats and dogs, occasionally, lie down in peace together.

At Goat Rope Farm, it's been a tough week for guinea babies. Out of 11, only two survived. We're not sure whether the temperature or the food was wrong. The remainders seem to be thriving now on something like the Atkins diet, which requires some of us to go out and dig grubs and such with some regularity.

Finally, after going to Ohio last week to attend a Paw Paw Festival, we learned enough to spot this native fruit on our own land, where it turns out we have several hundred little trees.

Win some, lose some, start again. So it goes.

Arpad's aristeia

"Aristeia" is a great Greek word that often comes up when talking about heroic epics like the Iliad. It comes from the work aristos as in aristocrat and means the best. In the context of epic, it refers to a hero's best fight or most glorious day on the battlefield.

In the Iliad several characters had aristeias, including Diomedes, Patroclus, Hector and Achilles. A full scene begins with the hero strapping on his greeves or leg protection and his cuirass or upper body armor, grabbing his shield and sword and various accouterments of war and proceeding to open up a can on the enemy. Often, this can opening is preceded by a lengthy boast about the hero's lineage and deeds.

Arpad, our recently shaven Great Pyrenees (above) had his aristeia last night. Or really this morning.

Around 4 a.m., we were awakened by the unmistakable sound of chickens in distress. The Spousal Unit ran out with a flashlight and I followed with the 12 gauge. Arpad was already in the chicken house. The flashlight soon revealed that a possum had climbed the walls of the chicken coup to where they roost. It was not the best place for me to deploy my artillery.

Arpad only barked once for a change but tried his mightiest to climb the walls. He is a genial goof most of the time but is fiercely protective of the other animals on the farm.

I dislodged the possum from his perch with a hoe and Arpad swooped in like the angel of death. It was over in a flash. When it's my time to go, I hope I die as quickly as that possum.

He killed it a couple more times for good measure. If he had a chariot, he may well have dragged its body around Goat Rope Farm the way Achilles dragged Hector around Troy.

Sic semper possumus may well be his motto.

He's a good boy. I think of him as My Sweet Little Angel Baby From Jesus In Heaven. Possums, however, may have a different opinion.

Boys will be boys

A romantic comedy is playing itself out every day at Goat Rope Farm. We have two mature...well, fully grown anyway...male turkeys known as Fauntleroy and Turk Lurk Jr.  There are slightly more females. One might think this would be a cause of joy for the boys, but no.

Instead, each one is consumed with the thought that the other one might have access to a female. That thought gives them no peace of mind. For that reason, they are constantly together and never let the other out of sight. They eat together. They sleep together. They display for each other. One might even suspect that they are more interested in each other than in the females, not that there's anything wrong with that. 

One time, the Spousal Unit found them chasing each other around a grill and pecking at their own reflections in it.

I guess it's just an extreme case of male bonding.

Good turkeys gone bad

I think the free range turkeys of Goat Rope Farm may have committed a federal crime this week by blocking the road in such a way as to prevent a mail carrier from discharging her duty. The Spousal Unit was able to intervene and chase the flock off the road before too much damage was done so I'm hoping they avoid prosecution. Previously, they did the same to an electric company truck (gas trucks are fair game). They have also chased away dogs and deer.

I'm not sure they're very smart but they have great self esteem and are living proof of the power of acting in solidarity.

Tiger mom, revisited

Once upon a time, there was an orphan baby chick. It tried to seek solace from other hens, but only got pecked. As for the father, roosters aren't big on parental responsibility.



This baby obviously needed a mother. We found one, a badly mauled stuffed tiger toy, in our dog's abundant toy box.



The baby thrived. Here's a look at the happy family today.

FOR MASOCHISTS ONLY. Here's a whole slew of recent articles on the BS of Ayn Rand.

IF YOU WANT TO READ ABOUT MORE BAD IDEAS, here's a slew of info on Paul Ryan's budget.

PRIVATIZATION. Here's a look at its dark side.

TROGLORAPTERS, ANYONE? If you need  a cave spider fix, click here.

GOAT ROPE ADVISORY LEVEL: ELEVATED

R.I.P. Turk Lurk

It is with sorrow that I must report the passing of The Turkey Formerly Known As Diego, aka Turk Lurk. He has been a resident of Goat Rope Farm for about four years now. He died of apparently natural causes, although romantic rivalry may have had something to do with it.

There was never a more ardent suitor when it came to the ladies, although he seemed to have trouble sealing the reproductive deal. It does appear, however, that at least two of the baby turkeys now bopping around the farm have his genetic imprint.

He was a really sweet, gentle, genial and tame bird. For years now, I have amused myself (and torment co-workers on conference calls) by exchanging endless verbal greetings with him.

May he be reborn in the Pure Land of Amida Buddha, where he can work towards ultimate enlightenment under the most favorable of circumstances.

BY WAY OF LINKS, here are two on the politics and reality of coal from Ken Ward's Coal Tattoo.

GOAT ROPE ADVISORY LEVEL: ELEVATED