To the Hilt

unpatented alarm clock idea

I really think that I should try to patent this alarm clock. After all, big corporations are patenting seed. If they can patent life, why can't I?

(Note: tongue-in-cheek. In case you ... couldn't tell.)

"Psst... Uncle Wick... wake up."

"My work here is done."

You have to admit, Roxanne is far too adorable for her own good. It's nice to have another longhair cat around. One that's not neurotic, at that, like our rescue Maine Coon, Tagg.

i will survive

Ach, now I shall have that song stuck in my head for the next few days. As I was saying, our group survived the whitewater rafting trip today on the Black River. If you're looking for a good experience, I highly recommend using Whitewater Challengers up there. The guides were excellent, and the rides were amazing. We all loved it (and only a couple of people fell overboard).

Our missions team flies out on Tuesday morning, so your prayers would be appreciated. We are hoping that the Lord will really use us as a blessing to the missionary in Alberta, and that we'll be successful in reaching out the people in the area that we'll be going. You won't hear much from me for a while, as I am not sure how much internet access I will have while I'm there. Of course, you don't hear much from me on here anyway, so there's not much to be said for that.

On that note, I am going to head toward the vicinity of sleep. Here's a picture of Sophie, our intrepid huntress, to keep you company whilst I am gone.

too many building projects

This is the result of too many building projects.

I'm just sayin'.

the chooks are here

Well, as some of you may know, the eggs that Rafter was setting on started to hatch on Wednesday. By Friday morning when I left for Tennessee, all nine had hatched. None of Phoenix's chicks had pipped yet, as she had gone broody after Rafter did.

Well, upon my return, my mother informed me that all eleven on Phoenix's clutch had hatched as well! Now, only two of those eggs were actually Phoenix's. One was from Matilda, our other half-bantie, and the remaining eight were from our standard chickens, although we're not sure which rooster sired any of these chicks. Now, on to the pictures!

Some of Rafter's bairn. All of them are hers except for the chick farthest to the left. That is the single chick resulting from someone managing to get in there while she was still laying in her secret spot.

Phoenix and "her" bairn. A very colorful bunch so far.

One of the interesting color variations. Several chicks from both broods are black like this with rust-colored faces. One of the chicks from Rafter's bairn, Pan, has that color all over, as evidenced below (Pan is the farthest to the right):

Isn't 'e cool?

pirates are unimaginative

       "You know, for all that pirates are clever-called, we are an unimaginative lot when it comes to naming things."
        "Like?"
        "I once sailed with a geezer lost both his arms and part of his eye."
        "What did you call him?"
        "Larry."

Meet Larry.

an addition

For those of you who were (unjustly, in my opinion) disturbed by the presence of Charles Wallace in my previous post, I present to you something that you might find slightly less disgusting:

A chicken picking his boogers.

See, right there? He's picking boogers with one of his toes. Honest, he is. Personally, I find that more disconcerting than the presence of an innocent corn snake, but I thought that some of my readers would beg to differ. Hence, this post.

Of course, once he realized that he was again being followed by the local farm paparazzi, Johnnycakes was quick to assure me that chickens do not have boogers and that he was actually pondering the existence of matter versus energy in such works of fiction as A Wind in the Door, and what, exactly, it was that Simon saw in Lord of the Flies. (I don't believe him, despite his record as a perfectly honest chicken.)

As it is, the fact that I have been unable to decide upon his namesake might be what keeps me from trusting him. Is he John Wayne, as I initially thought? His fate was to join the menagerie at my church's ranch, where he would fulfill his roosterly duty by waking up the One Pony and Donkey show each morning. He was thus named due to a friendly fued between our pastor, a great fan of John Wayne movies, and our ranch director, who promotes Roy Rogers as a more wholesome alternative. Thus, I was going to name Johnnycakes after John Wayne, just to make them wonder. But then, I stumbled once more upon a handful of Johnny Cash songs burned onto a CD that had been given to me. I was now in the midst of a moral dilemma. Who was this young rooster, this son of the mildly psychotic bantam? For whom should he be named? For that matter, what about everyone's favorite Outsider, also named Johnny?

As you may have guessed, I have yet to decide upon whom he takes after the most. Time will tell. One of these days, I'm bound to find him toting around either a pistol or a guitar, at which point I'll give you the verdict.