You Asked

Here is the requested photo of me. Have I mentioned my startling resemblance to Cousin It?

Sara and Carolyn win yesterday's guessing game! And Jive Turkey gets an Honorable Mention for the craziest, and yet most entertaining, guess (because crazy and entertaining is how Jive Turkey rolls). Those things are Walls o' Water. They're protecting our tiny tomato and bell pepper plants from the cruel world for now, so we can manipulate Mother Nature and have tomatoes for, like, 5 months straight. I really like tomatoes. Could you tell? The Walls o' Water (the missing "f" really makes these sound hip, doesn't it?) are made of really heavy plastic that smells exactly like a Slip 'n' Slide, and, I will not lie, they are a pain in the ass to set up. But they seem to be working, and a crippled back is a small price to pay for tomatoes in June.

I still think it looks like alien life forms have set up house in our garden, though.

And yes, Sara, that is indeed Leda the Fluffball. She was guarding me and the Walls o' Water from a squirrel. Thank God she was there, or else who knows what tragedy might have befallen me.

And now! A late-entry question from the aforementioned crazy Turkey, who can once again waste time at work with this blog.

"How in the name of Christopher Cross do you manage not to get attached to all those adorable freaking animals that you...uh...sometimes have to EAT?"

First, did everyone else just flash back to the stylin' duo of Kris Kross and their backwards clothing? Man, was that a more innocent time in hip hop.

Right, moving on. As for eating adorable animals, I suppose there are a couple of answers to this. Personally, I appear to have a naturally hard, cold nature, and anything I don't consider a pet is fine by me as a food source. The sheep are not pets. I don't really like them much; I tolerate them and sometimes find them entertaining, but I haven't exactly bonded with them. The same is true of our turkeys that we kill and eat at Thanksgiving--not pets--food.

Secondly, cute baby animals have a way of growing into not-so-cute adult animals. These lambs are all boys. They are already turning into little rams, displaying the aggression and surliness associated with rams. About the time they are sent to that big freezer in the sky, they will be almost full-grown and will probably spend all their time head-butting each other and trying to hump anything that will stand still. It's much easier to part with something that might try to mow you down if you step into the pasture.

But really, I guess it just comes down to not being squeamish. And I'm not. Don't ask me how I got this way, since my only exposure to meat before coming here was plastic-wrapped at Safeway. But somehow, meat in its original form doesn't really gross me out. I even helped A. butcher the deer he shot last fall, with nary a qualm.

Apparently, I was born for this life. Who knew?