I’ve posted so many pictures of Vesla recently. It’s unfair to the others, so here’s a couple of Holly:
And one of Misty:
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I’ve posted so many pictures of Vesla recently. It’s unfair to the others, so here’s a couple of Holly:
And one of Misty:
A Bad Guide
Beautiful, and beautifully in focus. Thank-you.
Excellent! We don’t want the other girls to feel left out. And they are pretty.
It’s like a Christmas carol.
The holly and the misty
Dum diddle diddle dum dum
Dum diddle dum, dum diddle dum
And the diddle dum dum crown.
They were my daughter’s names. Perhaps we ought to have called her Ivy.
You called her “diddle dum dum crown”? Golly.
Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey
A kiddley divey too, wouldn’t you?
Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey
A kiddley divey too, wouldn’t you?
We were looking for a different sort of name–but it’s no more unusual than “Dearieme”.
“They were my daughter’s names.” – this sounds so sad. I dare to hope it’s some sort of grammatical slip, and that you haven’t lost two daughters. I have two, and I’d hate to lose them.
No, thank god, they were my daughter’s names for the two goats. Goodness, I’m getting myself in a mess here.
Right. I must trust people’s apostrophes, even if the context is ambiguous. They were your daughter’s choices. For names. Sorry to read so weirdly.
Sorry to write so weirdly.
When we went to get a cat from the Blue Cross, we asked our small daughter what to call it. She pondered. Well, we suggested, is there any feature of it that would make a good name? “Yes”, she replied “wet tail”.
Is that what you called it, then?
Nah. We preferred Nemesis Bringer of Death. It got shortened to Nemmy.
That’s better. “Wet Tail” would have been a depressing name for the poor thing.
We have belatedly realized we should have called our large male cat “Nemesis” rather than “Pushkin.” But he was tiny and unsteady on his feet when we got him; how were we to know?
Pushkin’s a good name; it’s rather like enormous bodyguards who are known as “Tiny”.
These goats definitely need a good comb in order to get a decent hairstyle. A suggestion.
My goats would eat your thatched roofs.
That’s why a net is put over them: to prevent goats from depleting the thatch layer above our heads.
A net would just make the challenge more interesting. My goats would laugh at your nets.
NEMESIS BRINGER OF DEATH!!!????!!!
[Has Muntz finally met his match?]
goat game
Your goats laugh? Learned people said that laughter was what made some biped animals be human (le rire est le propre de l’homme — Rabelais). Other primates are said to laugh as well, and so are rats, but the laughing goat has not been seen yet, unlike the cow.
La vache qui rit and Le boeuf sur le toit are two different animals, right.
Happy Laughing Goat Sigg (sic) Water Bottle:
http://www.cafepress.com/+happy_laughing_goat_sigg_water_bottle_10l,383657164
…and there is this demotivational poster with some ill-tempered language…
I was also taken aback by Nemisis Bringer of Death. I gather this is one feisty cat!
Have I never given this link? It always cheers me up on a blue day:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIkJgH6uN_c
Oh, and by the way, how’s Muntz? Aren’t we do for our monthly Muntz?
Also BTW, when I lived in Brooklyn I had a serious squirrel problem. They ate everything I planted. First I put down moth balls; they kicked them out of the garden. Then I mail-ordered special discs with “essense of fox” and hung them all around; they used to sit under them and chatter derisively. Finally I invested in yards and yards of chicken wire. When my brocolli shoots were ready to plant, I put them in the ground, covered them with chicken wire, and secured it with about 20 bricks.
The next morning I went out back and saw that the squirrels had simply moved the bricks, pulled the wire back, and eaten all my brocolli. I imagined them calling their cousins: Hey, Rocco and Bugsy! Got a job for youse guys!
In upstate NY my father put an metal cone, wide side down, around the pole of the bird feeder. For a week I watched a determined squirrel brace his back legs on the pole, grab the edge of the metal cone, and gnaw at it. Over the week he gnawed higher and higher… until on the last day, satisfied with his handiwork, he swung up and climbed the cone. He had been gnawing footholds in the thing.
Scary, those squirrels. Some day they’ll take over the world.
That’s one very tolerant sheep. I didn’t know squirrels were like that; I only see them from a distance, they keep away because of the dogs. For some reason they don’t eat the bulbs I plant, which is rather insulting of them. They like bird food, though.
I think Dearieme is a mouse.
I think US squirrels have mutated into a higher life form.
Our squirrels used to be chased away by our cats, when the cats were younger. Then there was the sad case of the squirrel family who all drowned in the water butt. Have I told you that our local grey squirrels are largely a black “sport”? Nemmy also got called “The Wing Commander” because of his way with birds. But the old boy is declining into Catzheimer’s now: he’s not brought us a mouse or rat in ages. When we lived in Queensland, the cats would bring us snakes to the kitchen door. But I’ve probably told you that before.
US squirrels are social climbers.
What is a black “sport”? Does someone eat them?
My mother’s cat brought her snakes in Q’land.
Have I never given this link? It always cheers me up on a blue day
Thanks very much for that!
(Looks like the spammers have found this place…)
Dearieme and mab aren’t spammers, Language. I don’t know about that Nij, though.
I don’t have to spend time posting links here, you know — I do have more snow to shovel.
I wish I had snow to shovel.
We love your links, Nij.
Oh, and by the way, how’s Muntz?
Thriving. Last night Robin and I returned from a week-long vacation in Savannah to find the floor littered with at least a dozen socks — each of which, I assume, he toyed with mercilessly before finally delivering its quietus. We’ll send Crown some pictures this weekend, after we’ve unpacked and recovered from yesterday’s ten-hour drive (70mph from GA to NJ, until we got stuck, if you can believe it, in our own driveway).
Empty will shovel your snow.
Thanks, I feel better now.
It’s not the snow at my place, it’s the snow across the street where I have my storage. I was looking for Zinn — I know I have a copy somewhere — and had to shovel to get in.
Anyhow I have to stop posting links for a while for my weekend class.
Is there no photo of Nemmy?
No breakfast links?
The students are in charge of tomorrow’s breakfast. If it’s up to me I bring decaf and animalitos. They will probably have properly caffeinated coffee and some roundish cookies, unless they decide to go to McDonald’s. It’s cold, McDonald’s is a block away, and they’re mostly from Mexico, also no muckedy-mucks are scheduled to visit tomorrow, so I’m predicting coffee in the classroom.
I don’t think you’ll need any more links for a while, breakfast or otherwise. Right about now, Sig is probably very busy chewing his nails over nets and the possible vulnerabilities of thatched roofs, although he does have a point about the goats’ hairstyling. You can’t see their eyes–they’re even shaggier than the Beatles .
Oops, I was logged in somewhere else.
A word picture of Nemmy:-
My daughter, still young, looked out at the back garden in the gloaming. “Daddy, Daddy, there are four little white creatures on the lawn”. You see?
Regarding the squirrels: A London-dwelling friend has a walnut tree espaliered along his fence (and other fruit trees) and battled the squirrels for a long time. Finally he got a machine that emits some sort of inaudible-to-humans high-pitched specifically-targeted anti-squirrel whine. And it works! But he has to turn it off when our daughter is there because she can hear it, and it drives her mad. Perhaps we should have her DNA checked.
Otherwise, that’s enviable, to be able to hear such high-pitched sound.
Yes, I feel quite inferior. I want to hear it, too! Maybe an injection of squirrel blood. Or I could just cook one or six and sop them up with some bread. Would it sharpen my hearing?
Children can hear higher-pitched sounds than adults.
A classic home squirrel story: The firsthand account of a policeman who only made matters worse. Hear it here(about 15 minutes in).
Well, she is 23.
Then she is lucky to have kept her childhood hearing.
Some people are more sensitive to ultra-sounds than others. I have a friend who is bothered by TVs inside houses when he is walking by down the street (not by loud talk or music that might spill out of the house and be heard by all passers-by, but by the vibrations (?) that are inaudible to most people when a TV is on.
Thanks, empty, for the home squirrel story. It’s very funny!