Good Lord. Feedly is out, being hacked and held and ransom demanded.
Are you shitting me?
Do we live in the craziest times or what?
Oh maybe not. I think of the Crusades. Oh wait. People are still being killed in the name of one god or another all over the world. Plus- hackers. So maybe yes. Craziest times ever.
Things are moving apace here in Lloyd this morning. I spent a few incredible hours reading Elizabeth's book last night, having my mind blown. I mean, I knew it was going to be good, I just had no idea how good. Look- I'm not a book reviewer. I'm just someone who has read about a million books and this one is amazing. Everyone who comes here knows Elizabeth but you have not heard her story like this. Not to mention that as a writer she blows my doors off.
Buy it. Read it.
Speaking of publications, I went to the post office this morning on the way home from my walk and in our box was a beautiful magazine which I'd never seen before. It is called "Lei: Hawai'i For The LGBT Traveler."
Link to a lovely little video here.
Now, you know, I'm not LGBT or Q (how did they forget the Q?) but many of my friends and some of my family are and okay, I can maybe see how they'd get me on their mailing list. But here's the thing- it's addressed to MR. Moon! And the only other magazine he gets is "Florida Fisherman" or something like that.
Ah, the mysteries of life.
So. In continued chicken news, Drogo either had sex or tried to have sex with Eggy Tina last night. With chickens it is hard to tell. I must say that Eggy Tina was not receptive to the idea and ran screaming towards the woods.
But my babies are growing up!
And also, ever since he started crowing (or trying to crow, to be more accurate) Drogo has been sleeping alone. All eight of the young hens and all five of the old hens and Elvis go to roost in the hen house at night and Drogo goes into the old shelter in the coop where the young'uns used to roost.
I think Elvis may have had a talk with him that went something like this:
Son, you are not allowed to sleep with my hens. I, on the other hand, can sleep with ALL the hens. Either your hens sleep with you somewhere other than the henhouse or you, my scrawny pretender to the throne, can sleep alone. And since I am big and strong and old and wise and wily I feel certain that your hens will choose to sleep with me. We don't even have to mention the fact that I am the handsomest rooster in the county. And if you don't like this, I will murder you in your sleep.
So poor Drogo sleeps huddled and crouched on the bag of chicken food in a tiny shelter, all alone, and I just heard his most successful attempt at a crow so far and I'll keep you informed as things develop. Can you imagine how excited I'm going to be when the hens start laying eggs? I'll probably have to get a pace-maker installed.
I think I am so content to be excited about the very, very small things of my world because I can't deal with things like yet another school shooting or the open-carry gun laws in Texas, or George Will's speculations on why women might report sexual assault. I just can't. I have decided that saying one is a Republican quite literally translates to saying that one is a homophobic, non-compassionate, bigoted, jingoistic, paranoid nut-job who would rather believe in myths and hand-picked rules and regulations from a religious tome, parts of which were written over 1500 years ago, than science.
Should I tell you how I really feel?
Well, that's just me.
And I can't deal with all that shit anymore. I'd rather deal with chicken shit which is what I need to do right now. And why is it that I would rather clean out a poopy henhouse than mop the floors of my house? I do not know. Another mystery of life.
There are so many. I stand in wonder.