My Rapscallion

KEROUAC

Our little boy, our little ne'er-do-well and thief of hearts, is growing by the minute. I find him endlessly fascinating - so very different than all of the other living bodies we've had in this home. I have no idea what is going through his mind, but I suppose if I did I wouldn't find him so amusing, frustrating, lovable and captivating. As our dogs get old and slow down, this new little burst of endless energy and demonic wit has changed us all.

I Love Fall Most Of All

Bessie

BESSIE

Bessie was my favorite of all the girls from the start. Maybe it was because she had the most distinct looks. She looked like a baby owl - in fact, I called her "Owl" for the first couple months of her life, and held her more than the others. I think it was this kind of bonding that I did with the girls since they were a day old that turned me from a fried chicken eater to not being able to tolerate the the taste of the bird. I'm still conflicted. I'm not a vegetarian - don't intend to be. But after three sets of chickens, this was the group that I bonded with the most.

When one turned out to be a Rooster - The Reverend Green (AKA Odetta before the "change")- chicken raising took on an entirely different meaning to me. Having to give up the Rev because Roosters are OUTLAWS in Seattle and our Earth Mother Hippie Lesbian Mother of Child and Forgiveness and Kindness neighbor complained and said he was throwing off her "biorhythms" and that even being shut up in a tiny room that was overheated and stuffy with the windows shut, and wearing earplugs, and covering her head with a pillow, she was unable to get enough sleep to go to hear her friend's band play or get up to do her four hour temporary job work-stuff. So I sent the Rev to another place - a good place where he can roam more freely - but it broke my heart.

And now a few months later, Earth Mother's dog mauled two of our chickens. Bobbie Gentry is now in a box in my office, bandaged and looking sad. I hope she makes it. Bessie wasn't so lucky. She was almost gone, and Papa Seed had to end her life. It was devastating for both of us. My little Bessie, of the sweet looks and the beautiful, beautiful blue-green eggs.

I posted this elsewhere and I received some very sweet messages. Alas, also a lot of comments are more about wanting me to report the dog and some other odd personal agenda messages. I know that people mean well. I guess all I want is to be sad about my sweet Bessie. When I put the girls to bed at night, shutting up their door, I say "Good Night" and sometimes sing them the Sondheim song that contains the words, "No ones going to hurt you, not while I'm around..."

I love my ladies. I had no idea chicken love could be so sweet, especially when not eating them. I will miss my sweet, sweet Bessie. I'm so sorry I didn't protect her the way I said I would. I'm just sad.

The Universal Church of Cosmic Chaac

Church is now in session. Please remain seated. Or you can stand. Or dance. Or sleep or walk or whatever you want to do. All is good, all is right, all is sacred. Except for celery, war, racism and other forms of bigotry. Those ain't right. Or sickness. That isn't good either. But most of the rest is good. Canned pineapple is evil too. Beware of that one. Coffee, cowboys, squids, hugs, film noir - those things are way good. Sacred, in fact.

What A Long Strange Trip

I've got to stop with The Facebook. My blogs gather dust, yet they are much more conducive to my style of communicating, which is to endlessly blabber on about my life, things of interest and complaints. People are on Facebook to play games - like, really play games. Except for Scrabble and some similar word game, I don't play games. Well, chess. But I don't do that on Facebook.

Since last I was here - a son left for California with his girlfriend, a nephew stayed with us while he got his life together, then another nephew joined him for a similar reason and then they left for new girlfriends. There is a pattern here. We adopted a little foundling kitten, Kerouac, who managed to teach me that I still have some love to give, even if it is received with claws and out of control vet fees.

I tried to learn how to knit and failed, so I tried again and failed and then I tried again and failed, but I'm going to try again because I'll be damned if some little crafty thing that old ladies in rocking chairs do with their tiny little round spectacles and arthritic hands will defeat me. I have a Spanish tutor now, a guy from Peru. I dropped out of voice lessons, but want to find another instructor. I bought a little leather-craft kit but haven't taken it out of the box. I took a mosaic class but haven't done anything since. I will be doing both of these things soon. I lost at least 25 pounds and I'm walking almost daily and trying to eat decent foods 90% of the time. Papa Seed and I are rebonding after life seemed destined to move us in opposite directions, or at least put other things as the focus. I joined Netflix. I made beef jerky.

Kuma has gone blind, and both he and Rusty have trouble walking these days. It breaks my heart and leaves me beyond depressed when I allow myself to think about it. Aspen looks bored because he no longer gets to go on his daily walks, but I need to change that. I hate leaving the other guys behind - it seems unfair.

Our nine chickens give us an average of five or six eggs a day, but they will probably slow down now that it is getting colder and darker.

Fall is my favorite season. I'm glad it is here.