Anybody calls my girl a little monster I can just say “of course, she’s been a fan since Gaga: Five Foot Two.” All respect to one of the hardest working crews in entertainment, but she never gets her groove on this hard for the Wiggles.
Much better start on the day than Saturday at whatever the hell o’clock this was
when the grass still looked like this
and all the chickens started raising hell. I thought our goshawk was back when I first saw the predator at the heart of the commotion, but I had my first clue of what I was actually dealing with when it seemed as interested in me as I was in it. Interested enough to let me get close enough to see those distinctive tufts rotating on that unmistakable head swiveling in the dim morning light and know we’ve got a great horned owl.
That’s like ten goshawks glued together.
Thankfully our most visible target is also our smartest bird.
I can understand why they’re getting braver. The pastures were painted white long into the morning.
The weekend has been beautiful, though. People we love came out for a visit and Cllouseau is reliably coming in to touch base with us daily now.
And our Lady has been teaching Little Lady the importance of ritual too.
Demona’s younger sister, exploring life’s opportunities on her own, came up to the house for a visit.
And was promptly uninvited. In other miscreant news it’s getting impossible to get anything out of our linen cabinet without having to first prove our worthiness in battle with the resident kitchen troll.
She who controls the kibble shall rule the land. Deal with it.
If I get a chance to play today I shall play with the colour blue
and with my new favourite thing
but my priority is figuring out what they’re telling her, because I think I’m starting to trail in popularity.