Meanwhile, Back in the Barn

We did borrow a ram last December, so we are hoping some (if not all) of our sheep are pregnant, but how do you tell? Is that fluff, or little lambs inside? Only time will tell! 

The one on the left is called "Little Lamb." This is what happens when
you let a four year old name your animals. Now, if Little Lamb
has babies, what do we call them? Little Lamb's Little Lamb?

The guinea hen came to live with us last summer. That's right. Our farm is so nice, other people's animals defect, and come to live with us! She's a bit of an emotional nightmare in winter, though. I don't think she bargained on being cooped up for the winter. I keep the door shut when it's below freezing out, so they can stay warm. I did open it a while back, just to let her go, if she wanted to, but she came back in at night. So, I guess she's happy, sort of? I couldn't get a good picture, because she was running around, throwing one of her fits. Just not a winter person, I guess. You can see all of the chickens cowering in the corner, staying out of her way. 

And this is my current favorite chicken: 

Nesting in our shredded junk mail. 

Mr. and Mrs. Turkey are spending the winter perched up by the sunny window, chillaxin'. In the summer, they make a terrible racket and terrorize any child who dares come near them, but in the winter, they are quiet and mellow. They save their drama for other seasons. They seem grateful to be fed, this time of year. Of course, we see hundreds of their wild cousins, roaming around, looking for food, so I suppose they have it good. So what if we eat their babies? 

That's the infamous Tom Turkey on the right, attacker of trucks.
But if you compliment him, he leaves you alone. This seems like
it cannot be true, but it is. Little Z figured it out. She told me,
"Just tell him what nice feathers he has, and he'll stop gobbling
at you." Sure enough, it worked. Everyone just needs a kind word,
now and then. So now whenever he gets upset,
"What a good turkey you are, such pretty feathers."
"Hmph," says Tom, and stands proud and quiet.

And, last of all, the bunnies. We didn't really know how the bunnies would fare in the barn, since they were house pets, but they just grew thick coats and burrowed into the wood shavings. They seem quite content. Also, I figured out they like orange peelings. Since I eat about two oranges a day all winter, this is a good thing.

Marshmallow eats her orange peels. 

Coming soon (I hope): baby chicks. Due to hatch this Sunday. 

Don't judge...

... Until you've walked a mile in my shoes. (These Little Z's shoes, but still.)

Pardon the Interruption, but

It's baby bunny time!



I just can't stop.

Kits

That fur, back in the corner, there? It's moving. And Jingle the Bunny is looking quite self-satisfied. Me thinks we've got us some baby bunnies.

Pretty sure our bunny is preggers

Check out that baby bump! But mostly the tipoff is the nest she's made, out of her own fur. Also her cravings for pickles and ice cream in the middle of the night. 

We suspect Apples the Bunny is the father, since he's a boy, and Little Z took Jingle over to Apples' house for a "Bunny Playdate," where they, "Gave each other piggy back rides." Whoops.

And now for something completely different...

The rabbits have been, um... going at it like rabbits. I hope they're really both female! It's difficult to tell, with bunnies, and we know Santa was worried about other things, that night. Here's a video:

Some Unexpected Poop Flingers

We have been potty training the bunnies, Jingle and Tree. However, they still have some interesting habits. Namely, they like to throw their poop. I've never actually seen them doing it, and you've got to wonder just how they do it, but I can't deny that it must be happening. You find their little poop pellets in the oddest places.


How is this even possible?



No one is talking.


Just a bunch of stuffed animals; nothing to see here. Move along... [I like how Jingle always hangs out by Little Z's toys, and she looks like one of them! I guess she actually is one of them. She's just, you know, real.]

In the Wee Hours of the Morning

I was laying in bed this morning, sleeping, when Little Z barged into the bedroom. I pretended to still be asleep. She stood next to the bed and pulled my hair until she had my attention.

Me: "Is this an emergency? Go away!"

Z: "I have to ask you a question."

Me: "What?"

She held up something that looked in the dim morning light like a rotten tangerine.

Z: "Can I feed this from the refrigerator to my bunnies?"

Me: "Sure."

Z: "Okay!"

She ran out of the room. I realized belatedly that it was probably a brussel sprout, not a rotten tangerine.

A few minutes later, accordion music drifted into my dreams.

*****

This afternoon, I asked her,

"Did you feed your bunnies brussel sprouts and then play them the accordion, early this morning?"

"Yeah... What's so funny about that?"

I couldn't explain.

Animal

I've been shopping on line at the Humane Society for a future companion for Little Z, a species she has wished for for quite some time. Her Mallards have flown south, Bon Voyage! And now she's been feeding the fish every day to show us how responsible she is, because she wants one of these creatures:



This is the picture the Humane Society posts when they have not photographed the beasties yet. Some of the beasties have already been photographed, and look like this:



And now you know that she wants a rabbit. But what is up with that first picture? It's the Parrot Billed Chicken Bunny! If only Monty Python were still around.