This Is The Life

When I went out to close the chickens up last night there were several different developments. First of all, Drogo was back in the henhouse, trying to stay out of Elvis's way by cramming himself between the garbage can where we store the chicken scratch and the wall. And either Chi-Chi or Cha-Cha (and who can tell the difference?) was actually in the nesting box with Elvis. The little hussy. And I could not find Missy, the small black hen with the very fuzzy feet whom we think of as Eggy Tina's sister. I looked all over that tiny space with my flashlight and then Mr. Moon went out and looked too and he couldn't find her and he searched on top of the coop and in the lower tree branches and not one sign of her. We were sad, we were resigned. We have been so lucky to keep all eight of the original peeps this year.
And then, this morning when we let them out, there she was, trailing along with the rest. She'd been there all along and where? Had she buried herself in the hay?
Oh, who knows? Not us.

I slept for nine hours and forty-five minutes last night. I swear to god. I closed my eyes at eleven and woke up at six forty-five when Maurice came and tapped me on the face to tell me she would like to eat now, please. I got up, fed her, peed, thought about just getting up then and went back to bed and slept another two hours.
What the hell?

Mr. Moon and our across-the-street-neighbor have taken the dogs to get groomed and then to the grocery store to stock up for the island which will be their base for the fishing tournament this weekend. Man does not live on chili and cookies alone although I feel sure that man could if he had to.
They'll be leaving out sometime this afternoon and be gone until Sunday. Father's Day and Jason's birthday, as well. Tomorrow the boys will be here all day and then I will have that evening and all day Saturday and Saturday night to myself and quite frankly, I am looking forward to that. Maurice and I will make do just fine, I think. And oh yeah, the dogs and fourteen chickens.
Fourteen chickens.
What were we thinking? That we'd lose at least half, probably.

Next week the boys are coming to stay not for four weeks, as Owen would like, but for three nights. Lily and Jason are going to New Orleans to celebrate Jason's birthday and his promotion and to have a nice little getaway. This will be the longest separation ever for the boys and I feel quite certain they'll be fine. Now, whether Boppy and I will be fine is another matter but we'll probably survive. Perhaps I shall just teach Owen to make martinis and that would kill several birds with one stone right there.
As for Lily and Jason, I hope that they have a wonderful time and may I take this opportunity to remind them of a sign they have posted on their porch:

Not that another grandchild wouldn't be lovely but...

Anyway, I've taken my walk. The sky looked like this when I got about half a mile from home.

A man came walking across the pavement at the old deserted gas station and told me I better get on with it, I was about to get rained on. I thanked him for the information and sure enough, by the time I got out of the post office, it was raining nicely and I did get wet but it just felt good. 

The blackberries are coming on.

Maybe I'll actually pick some. It's been such a good year, rain-wise, that there will be a bountiful number to pick. 

All right. One more thing. Lily sent me a video last night and although it does show a little bit of boy butt in the bathtub I have to share it. She had found a cast-cover online that would allow the wearer to bathe and swim with it on and I ordered it and it got delivered to them yesterday. They went swimming and had a wonderful time and Gibson is just so happy to be back in the water. 

Please note how their cat Parker is trying to preserve Gibson's modesty in the video and if you have any problems with your blood sugar, you might want to check it after viewing because, well, this is just Gibson being his sweet, sweet self.

And all is well and all is well and all is very, very well.