|Sukey, world's best cow|
Lots of thinking and reading and some good therapy... I have a long simmering brain and my back burner is where it's at. So here, right now, I'm busy. But things I learned a year ago are sinking in. I'm like that. Art has been a good, physical manifestation of this. Every year I don't work on something makes it richer and better and finally I go back to it, and every thing I learned technically years ago is in full flower, actualized. My motions one with the thought. So don't worry if I learn something new but can't apply it right away. I quit working so hard, put it in the crock pot and when I get home from church, it's all savory and melts in my mouth. (This is how, over the centuries, countless hoards have tried to convince me to get a crock pot. Like I'm all about roast beef. I get bitchy just at the thought of adding one more thing in to the morning while cajoling kids in to underwear and clothing and making sure they've gone pee before we go because I hate the crotch-grabbing-dance they have no qualms about doing in front of large, and largely anonymous audiences... So OKAY - I am not making ROAST BEEF for lunch at 8 am when I'd rather be showering. But I've realized that if I stop the discussion and tell them how NOT interested I am in crockpots (there's also the minivan-like cliche-mom issue and the not-enough-enough-cupboard-space-for-yet-another-too-specific-giant-piece-of-crap concept to consider) then we end up with even more vehement crockpot-proselytization... Just give me the damn recipe which I can write down as "blah blah blah" in a way so that no one can really read my hand writing. Or maybe I should just slap them until they shut up. Okay, perhaps my new personality needs to go in my mental crock pot for a few more years to get a little more toothsome. Or perhaps that's just the people-pleaser in me that's thinking WAY TOO MUCH about you and your love of all things crock pot.)
|Too many cows|
Hendrika gave chocolate milk for a good 10 days. We did not drink it. Because Chocolate milk actually from cows is not made with chocolate. When her milk came in, her udder stretch a little too much, blood vessels were burst and viola: chocolate milk. We turned it in to eggs, however.
We dehorned Chocolatey Claire (also, not TRUE chocolate), This was not as gruesome as I feared and involved ONLY: catching her, caging her, roping her, roping her again, roping her again, getting kicked and head butted, shaving her marble-like horn buds, smearing a caustic paste on them, then reading the directions, then smearing some of the paste off, and then listening to her mother (the venerable Hendrika) moo her head off for six hours until we could let her back out with the cows. I felt remiss in not bringing in a mohel. Why dehorn at all? Isn't that inhumane, etc, etc? I'll tell you what would be inhumane: getting gored. Literally, inHUMANe. Especially important if she turns out to be anything like her mother, by who's head (if it'd had horns) I'd have been hari-cari-ed several times over. She did not appear to be in any pain, FYI. Claire will be my milk cow in 2 years, if all goes well. And I want her as me-friendly as possible.
I hope you like my blog post, even though it was a little long. I really really hope you liked it. THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading it! Oh my god, I feel so blessed that you would read my BLOG. Thanks for putting up with my self-centered moment here. Did you really like this post? I really hope you did. I really really do.
|Coyote knew how proud Louis was of his catch,||so he snapped a photo to honor the moment|