Oh, Right

You're expecting me to post something witty and amusing today, aren't you? Right. Just gimme a second . . .

(The rooster execution we have scheduled today isn't very amusing, can't talk about that . . . The septic system dye test we're having this morning does not lend itself to witticisms. God, I hope we pass it . . . Probably no one cares that I gotta find and fix the hole in the pasture fence this morning so the dogs will stay put at night instead of sneaking out like wayward teenagers . . . There's always the Saturday dump run, except I've already covered that . . . A. is going to finish the evil gate that claimed my thumb as a sacrifice last Saturday and then finish fencing in the hollow so the sheep can eat the bamboo shoots this spring and maybe foil the bamboo's dastardly plan of taking over the whole goddamn world, but that's not very entertaining, unless HIS thumb explodes, too . . . Damn. I got nothin'.)

I'm sorry, but I appear to have nothing at all interesting to talk about. What a boring life I lead. I'll try to do better tomorrow.

Sweetness and Light

Do you know what trolls are? Not the creepy children's toys with the crazy hair, or the mythical kind so popular in Norway, but Internet trolls. Internet trolls appear on blogs and make nasty comments with very little provocation. They're sort of like really mean, hateful online stalkers.

And I don't have any.

Trust me, I'm not complaining. I mean, who wants some jerk-off making cruel comments on a site that is, essentially, all about me?

But I have some theories about why no one has ever actively criticized me in my comments. (Besides the fact that this site isn't popular enough. PSHAW.) Of course. Because I like to analyze and over-think EVERYTHING.

1) I'm too scary. More than once, I have been called intimidating. In real life, I mean. Does this come across on this site? Do I seem like the sort of person who would beat your ass into the ground if you dared disagree with me? If so, good. I'm doing something right.

JUST KIDDING. I'm actually a highly non-confrontational person in real life. Most of the time. But then, I'm always right, so why would anyone disagree with me? (JUST KIDDING AGAIN.)

2) A. is too scary. This is actually closer to the truth. He's protective. And he's big. Not that size makes a difference online, but he is ALSO a lawyer and a freakishly articulate person, so if he wanted to kick your ass verbally, he would have no trouble. Nor any hesitation. I like to use him as a threat to anyone who dares contradict me, because you contradict ME, you contradict HIM.

Except he contradicts me all the time, so I don't know how that fits in.

3) I don't invite confrontation. This is true. Though I've actually been surprised that no one has tried to start a fight about docking lamb tails or electrocuting dogs with luncheon meat. PETA, where are you? I suppose it's clear that while we do these things, we are not cruel people and we treat our animals very, very well. Still, if anyone would like to start a fight? BRING IT.

4) People online are actually really, really nice. I'm going with this one. A lot of people read this site, thousands since I started it, and not one negative comment among those thousands.

I love you guys. Thanks for being so nice to me. GROUP HUG!!

And I'm out.

Bonnie's Babies

Look what A. found in the barn this morning:

LAAAAMBS!!! (That's not getting old is it? NAH.)

These are the last lambs of the season, two girls born to Bonnie. Bonnie was moping around all day yesterday, looking like she was going to give birth from the morning on, but still no lambs when we went to bed. By the time we got up, however, there they were, stumbling around. A. did have to assist a bit in this one, just because the milk plugs in her teats, that the lambs usually pull out when they start nursing, were being stubborn and the lambs hadn't been able to nurse yet. He had to milk her pretty hard until the milk started coming. But now all is well in the sheep's world. The grass is getting green, the sun is shining, all the lambs have been safely delivered, and the shepherd delivers a daily ration of feed. What more could a sheep want?

So, in sum, we have had five lambs (three girls and two boys) and six puppies.

Sorry, I couldn't resist. Could you? I mean, really. LOOK AT THOSE FACES.

The garden has been started, the flowers are blooming, the snow has melted. I think it's spring.

Sweet Freedom

By a rare stroke of luck, everyone in my house managed to make it home by 6:15 last night. Because I was planning on dinner at 7 p.m., to coincide with the normal time of arrival of one particular hardworking lawyer, this meant that A. and the MiL both had almost a whole hour to commune with their respective baby animals. So the gates were opened and the beasts ran free. It was beautiful to see, really.

First, A. released the sheep to graze on the greener grass they were SURE was on the other side of the fence.

Then they discovered that it IS greener on the other side. And there are peonies!

And then the MiL emancipated the puppies for an evening puppy walk. Which may be the most adorable sight on the PLANET and would surely melt the heart of even a hardened criminal.

Puppy therapy: Cheaper than drugs!

And then I made them lock all the babies back up again, because I am cruel and hard and wanted to eat my sausage and potatoes. The end.

Living as a Slightly-Less-Evolved Being

Isn't it amazing how you can just keep learning throughout your life? I mean, I would have totally bet money (not MY money, however) on the fact that I knew everything already, now that I've reached the advanced age of 29. (Please tell me you can read the very heavy sarcasm there.) And yet, I've just learned a new thing, now that my exploding thumb has rendered me essentially one-handed.

Opposable thumbs are VERY, VERY IMPORTANT.

Don't believe me? Try to clip back long hair with one fully-functioning hand and the four non-thumb fingers of the other. Or apply deodorant. Or button a jacket. Or put on a bra. Or even do something as advanced as open a door WHILE HOLDING A CUP OF WATER, and you will see.

It's like I've regressed, evolutionarily speaking. And it's really, really annoying. It does get me out of doing things like splitting wood and washing dishes, but dude. This kind of sucks. I'm home alone all day, sitting around bra-less (sorry, Dad) in my sweatpants, thinking of all the things I should be doing. Like wearing supportive undergarments and pants that have a zipper. I did manage to cook dinner last night with just the one hand (with some peril to my remaining whole fingers, I might add), and I might be able to manage some of my other chores, but the effort involved in cleaning the bathroom one-handed is just too tiring for me to contemplate at the moment.

So instead, let's look at some pictures.

First up! A photo of one of the many small children who have come to see the puppies. And grasp them in a headlock. The puppies appear to enjoy it.

I WOULD bet my own money that this is the cutest thing you will see all day. Maybe all WEEK.

Definitely less cute is this photo my sister took while I was in Arizona and recently sent to me. This is Aunt Monkey dancing so the family photos will feature a smiling, focusing baby.

I swear to God, I was TOTALLY SOBER.

And lastly, a reminder that it IS still spring, despite the SNOW blowing outside my window at this very moment.

Sigh.

A Bloody Story Laced with Profanity

Hello, poppets. How was your Sunday? Good? That's good. Me? What did I do yesterday? Oh, you know. Helped A. dock the lambs' tails, put together the new reel mower, helped A. build a gate . . . smashed the SHIT out of my thumb.

And then I said a really bad word that starts with "f." Trust me, you would have, too.

There I was, showing A. how if you wanted to actually drive the nails all the way into the hardwood without bending them and then swearing and pulling them out and starting over EVERY TIME, you had to hold the nail. "Just hold it, and tap it," went my tutorial. "Keep holding it, don't be afraid of the hammer, just . . . " SMASH went the hammer on my left thumb.

I should have been afraid of the hammer.

A moment of calm, and then the blood started. This is also when the profanities started, as I ran for the house dripping blood in my wake, with A. right behind me.

I stuck my hand under the faucet so I could wash away the blood and see what had happened. Apparently, I had hit a glancing blow on my thumbnail, causing the nail to separate at the cuticle all along one side*. It wasn't pretty--the whole nail was already turning black, in fact--and it was bleeding a lot. A. threw a dish towel at me, which I wrapped around the gushing thumb, held tight with my other hand, and held high, remembering from somewhere (Girl Scouts? TV? who the hell knows) that you're supposed to elevate bleeding wounds above the heart to stop the blood flow. And apply pressure.

Just call me Dr. Kristin.

So I held my thumb up in the dish towel and paced around and around the kitchen table (I will also admit to a few tears at this point, because the pain started to hit right about now) while A. ran around like a character in a Marx Brothers film, looking for first aid supplies. He found medical tape, and some Betedine, which is a surgical scrub for veterinarians. Whatever--I'm an animal, who cares. What he did NOT find, however, was any gauze. So he cut a square off from the dish towel already on my hand, and bandaged me with that. Swell.

Then he made me sit down, and he hovered over me , practically wringing his hands and offering me a cup of tea at least a dozen times. I, however, being understandably irritable, didn't want any damn tea, thank you. I wanted lunch. And I wanted some gauze. So we drove to the nearest town with a store that might stock gauze, 15 minutes away, and my thumb and I went along because ALSO in this town is a seasonal ice cream stand that had opened for the season just recently. THANK GOD. So I dosed myself with chicken tenders and french fries and a strawberry ice cream cone. It didn't do much for the thumb, but it made me feel better.

In case you wish to know how my thumb feels, as the other members of my house do on a regular basis, let me tell you: It feels like I smashed the shit out of it with a hammer. That is to say, it REALLY, REALLY HURTS. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose the nail. And I typed this whole thing with one hand.

On the upside, it's going to be a long time before I can do dishes again. So there is that.

* A. later described it this way, with a touch of awe in his voice, "I've never seen anything like it. It's like your thumb EXPLODED." Indeed.

Here

The view from the top. The fake fur on my boots was a big hit.

We've been calling this one Lively, because she is, but Dumbo was certainly appropriate.