True Confessions

It may come as a shock to some of you to hear this, but I'm not perfect. It's true! Really! I have my little flaws like the rest of you mortals.

For instance, up until today, I never used the strainer-thingys in my sink.

You know, these things:

*shudder*

 

 

The things that catch all the nasties and keep them from going down the drain. The goopy, gloppy, stringy, soggy, icky, yucky blucky nasties. I have a problem with these strainers. The problem is, I LIKE it when the nasties go down the drain. That way I don't have to look at them or touch them or associate with them or think about them ever again.

 

I also have a problem with wiping the crumbs and junk off of the table and counters carefully and neatly into my hand instead of flinging them hither and yon onto the floor where they wait to be swept up (I do sweep them! I DO!! You know...sometimes). I just hate the way they feel against my skin. Crumbs are okay, and wet stuff is okay, but when both combine in a weird half-firm, half-soggy pile and stick to my hand - I have to stop talking about it now.

 

Give me poopy diapers any day. Just please, no soggy crumbs or sink filters or hair in the shower!

 

This might be the reason why I'm so bad at housekeeping. That, and the fact that I'm just naturally the mistress of chaos.

But anyway. I previously shunned sink filters. But I also don't have a garbage disposal. So this has caused problems.

 

Problems in the form of a sink clog that almost ruined my life.

 

Not really. But kind of.

 

Actually it just required obscene amounts of drain-o. Which also repulses me.

 

So I've come to a decision. I'm going to use my sink filters. And be a grown-up.

 

The end.

Twoo Wuv

Breeding Notes 3/18/2015

AM

Broderick + Winifred = 3 fall-offs. 1st fall-off Winifred peed immediately afterward. Weird? Normal? She definitely lifted for the next 2, he made sure of that. When I put her back in her cage she ran to sit in the corner and made soft little grunting/whimpering noises. Weird? Normal? Should I feel bad? Wait, don't answer that.

Broderick + Cordelia = 2 fall-offs. Cordelia also mounted 2x. She was very excitable and didn't seem to object to his attentions at first. After 2 fall-offs, Broderick gave himself a thorough grooming, during which time Cordelia flattened herself onto the floor and held super still. Once he got done and started to go for it again (maybe 5 minute break total), she started growling and punching at him. She was hastily removed.


PM

Broderick + Cordelia = MAYBE one fall-off. She was really NOT keen to have another go and was removed speedily.

Broderick + Winifred = Again, doe was not so keen for another go-round. She mounted him for a while but I suspect it was purely to keep him off of her, not so much eagerness to breed. She got mean/grouchy after 1 fall-off and was removed to her own abode.

In other news, I'm getting better at handling rabbits in general. It sounds silly to say that I was afraid of them before, but...it did make me nervous, having to pick them up. They can be scratchy little buggers. If you're not nervous it is SO much easier!

For those who are not offended by blatant bunny porn, I took some video of Winifred and Broderick the second time. It makes me giggle.

Trauma Drama

Rabbits are Drama Queens. Bucks included. I clipped their nails today, and you'd think I was trying to chop off their legs with the way their panicked little eyes were bulging out of their heads. Sheesh. It went pretty well regardless, so I was well pleased! Only had one little bitty nick on Broderick's right hind nail...I would do a *test* pressure with the clippers before I actually cut the nail off, and it's a good thing too because just the test found the vein on one of his. >_< Turns out all of the nails on his hind feet were pretty well worn down already.

Which is good, because he wasn't keen on me touching him anymore at that point.

I've decided that upon the closer-than-usual inspection I was able to get of the girls today, Winifred is the better rabbit. I'll be bold and say that I THINK she will turn out to be the better breeder/mother/producer. She's bigger, calmer, and generally happier than her sister. BUT...she might be slightly fat. So there's that.

Cordelia appears to be narrower, and has always had the less agreeable temper. She is nervous and aggressive when it comes to her food or personal space. I noticed today that her hind end seems narrower than her sister's (but again, this could be the *ahem* fatty issue Winifred may or may not be having...obviously I'm making very uneducated guesses here), and her back feet are kind of narrow too and she has this weird thing where she tucks her bottom under and I have a heck of a time finding her back feet at all.

BY THE WAY MY CAT JUST TOOK A SHIT BEHIND ME AND THE STENCH SEEMS TO BE BURNING MY EYEBALLS OUT AND I MIGHT DIE SOON.

Not sure why I got a cat. I freaking hate having a box of poop inside my house. Yuckyuckyuckyuckyuck.

Moving on...

Tomorrow I get to breed the bunnies! Broderick has made it through 4 weeks of quarantine and has no problems that I can see. WOOHOO! EXCITEMENT OVER HERE! YEAH!!

That is all. I have to escape the cat-reek now and go make dinner (**gag**).

Broderick

Things are getting serious now, y'all. I've added an actual real live fluffy bunny BUCK to my rabbit operation. Which is now officially an "operation" because it can now officially operate (i.e. make baby bunnies).

Later this month he'll be introduced to his new girlfriends (YAYYY BABY BUNNIES!!!), but for the time being I'm keeping an eye on his health and attitude and whatnot, and just letting him get used to his new environment. Lately, when I go out to give him food and water, I'll put one hand on his face and one hand on his rump until he holds still (hands are not his favorite), and then I'll pet him and croon at him and tell him what a handsome wonderful bunny daddy he is. Then I'll take my hands off and give him his food, at which point he is very relieved.

THIS morning...when I opened his hutch he came over to me and stood up, and when I bent down to talk to him he put his fluffy whiskery nose up to mine and snuffled me before I even gave him anything. Then he bounced away and clicked his fluffy heels together in a totally adorable dancing-bunny-spasm.

I have not decided whether this was an expression of utmost joy that I had arrived and he really truly loves me; or if, upon touching me, he was overcome with repulsion and was trying to shake my person-juices off of himself.

Either way, it was freaking adorable.

Welcome to the rabbitry, Broderick! We are SO excited that you are here!

 

 

 



"and when He shakes His mane, we shall have Spring again"

What is your definition of "Spring"?

As a stubborn, OCD-inclined child, my answer would have been that Spring is the stretch of days beginning at March first and ending on May thirty-first. Because there are 3 months in each season, exactly. February is a winter month. March is a Spring month. Thus, logically, neatly, and tidily, March the 1st = Spring!

But life isn't always neat, tidy, or logical.

Another school of thought might say that the calendar declares the "First Day of Spring!" to be March 20th. As if calendar-makers everywhere must conspire in secret meetings, holding Nature captive and demanding that she divulge her secrets, that they might print them in cute little fonts in a cute little square hung on somebody's fridge. Or as if it were a holiday which can be assigned whichever specific date suits the whim of humanity.

And perhaps it is such. But I don't think so.

For the past few years, I have determined in my soul the first day of Spring, not by the appearance of the jolly Robin (if he ever left in the first place - this is Oklahoma, after all), or by the first bloom of the daffodil.

There is always a day that comes, usually after a series of cold, wet and miserable days, and quietly declares itself as the herald of Spring. It is not necessarily a warm, bright or sunny day, or even one in which all of the snow is melted. When I step outside, I recognize it. It greets me as an old friend, and as I inhale its beloved scent, I know.

It is Spring.

(Today was that day for me. What about you? Do you recognize Spring by a specific date, sight, or smell?)

Kevin



Life and Death. Life is generally preferred. Death...well, we don't want to think about it mostly. Yet in order to sustain my own life, I must take life. To put it a less palatable way; I must bring death. It's interesting to think about.

About a week ago, I ended the lives of two living, breathing, flapping, quacking ducks. For someone who had never before killed anything larger than a very large squash bug, or perhaps a very large carrot, this was dramatically different. The sheer force, and the solidity of will that it took to end the life of a warm blooded creature, was immense. Once you begin, you end. There is no faltering. No hesitation. No backing out.

I like to think they didn't mind me bringing about their demise. They had a good life, and a swift end, intended for a good purpose. It's not such a bad way to go, really. I have seen many a good okra plant glory and rejoice, even at the ending of their days. They did what they were meant to do. Lived as they should. Died well.

I named the ducks Harold and Kevin. Because I think everybody deserves a name. Even the ducks that were only in my possession in living form for about fifteen minutes. Kevin will be our Thanksgiving dinner this coming Sunday, and I'm very hopeful that he will be extremely delicious. I found this recipe, and I think it just might do him justice! I am grateful for the life he gave; the life I took for myself and my children.

I'm not as grateful for the 8,437,652 feathers that are currently strewn around my back stoop.

Even so. It was a good experience. A bit grisly. A bit gruesome. But the duck's death connected me to life in a way I never knew before. It was warm, heavy, bloody, and real. It wasn't Nintendo's "Duck Hunt", with a virtual bird dog giggling at me when I missed the shot. It wasn't a cute little boneless, skinless package at the grocery store. It was a duck. And then it was a duck without a head. And soon it will be dinner.

I'm going to uproot and mercilessly dismember all of the carrots from my garden and put them through the pressure canner pretty soon. Hopefully I can do a post on that! Sorry for the lack of updates, it's been busy!



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Spiced Hot Chocolate

You all know the hot chocolate mixes you get at the grocery store. I grew up with them, as I'm sure many did. I can look back and see myself, waiting for the water to boil so that I could pour it over the magical powder that would transform into a tasteless, watery version of a cheap hershey's bar, onto which I would then gleefully pile obscene amounts of corn-syrup laden marshmallows.

I hope that last sentence has convinced you not to get pre-made hot chocolate mixes from the grocery store. If it didn't, let me try again: Don't. Just don't! It's not worth it. Life is too short to drink watery hershey's bars. Never fear, though! There is an alternative!

First of all: Milk. Not water. Use milk. Good, Whole, Raw milk. There's nothing else like it. If you use anything else you may as well just go and sacrifice yourself on the altar of Monsanto corn and tastelessness. Haha!

On to the recipe. If it can be a recipe without measuring.

• Milk
• Honey
• Cocoa
• Ground ginger
• Ground nutmeg
• Ground cinnamon

Now, here's what I do. I glug a whole lot of milk into a large pot. I try to estimate how much will fit into however many mugs I want to fill. If I'm feeling extra smart, I'll get out a mug and use it for measuring. Mostly though, I just guess. And sometimes I err on the generous side, so that I can drink more hot chocolate than everybody else.

I probably use about 1/4 cup of raw, local honey to every six or so cups of milk. It's hard to know, when you're guessing. Really what you should do is taste it as you go along. Tasting is the best part of cooking!

Next add the cocoa. Again, only guessing here, but I'd say I use a heaping teaspoonful of cocoa per mug to be filled with luxurious chocolate awesomeness. It all depends on how chocolatey you like your chocolate.

Next is ginger, and you probably only want a very, very small amount of this, because it's very, very strong. I'm going to use a really old-fashioned measuring unit and say you're going to want a pinch of ginger. I love the extra kick it gives it!

Nutmeg. I probably use about a quarter teaspoon for a 6 cup batch (enough for 3 adults, or 2 adults and 2 children, which is usually how much I'm making). Nutmeg tastes like Christmas. I love it.

Cinnamon! Can't go far wrong with cinnamon. I admit to being rather heavy-handed with this spice. Perhaps a teaspoon or two altogether for the batch would do?

Now that you've got everything in the pot, turn the heat to medium/low and start whisking. Really you could probably wait until the milk warms up a little because everything mixes much better when it's warm, but I start whisking right from the beginning because I'm an obsessive whisker.

Meow.

Okay, now you just have to stir it frequently enough so that it doesn't develop a horrible, slimy milk-skin on top. Again, I'm obsessive so I mostly stand there and whisk the whole time because I drank some hot chocolate with a nasty, slimy milk-skin on it once and it almost ruined my life.

Whiskwhiskwhiskwhiskwhisk!

Voila!

Or Wah-lah, as they might spell it in Oklahoma. ;)

Feel free to add copious amounts of home-whipped raw cream, if you're lucky enough to have it on hand. Or perhaps some cute little homemade meringues. Or homemade marshmallows (believe me, they're on my to-attempt list!).

Happy Christmas-in-a-cup!


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