Where To Start

Yesterday was such an exciting and eventful day, it's hard to know what to focus on.  So we'll just talk about everything in order from least exciting to most exciting, okay?  Okay.  Onward.

Hey!  Remember that time a wasp was hiding in my jeans and stung me on the leg?  That was so fun, let's do it again!

Yes, lightning has struck twice.  Or, in this case, the wasp community has struck twice.  Luckily, the only one around to witness my frantic haste to drop trou and kill the attacker was Charlie.  Also luckily, I wasn't actually holding him at the time.  More disturbing than the actual sting was the fact that I had already been wearing these jeans for six hours when the wasp stung me.  Which means it was just hanging out in there, waiting for its chance.  Creepy.

Also kind of creepy?  A hat made out of raccoon skins for my adorable older son, courtesy of my mountain man husband.

I should perhaps first explain that A. trapped raccoons last winter and sent a few of the hides to be tanned, with the express purpose of making a hat for Cubby.  The skins have been sitting around for months, and yesterday A. took needle (and pliers, because pushing a needle through tanned skins is a bitch) in hand and made his very first fur garment.

He sat like this for a REALLY LONG TIME.  Sewing tanned hides is no joke.

He used these instructions as a guideline, though he did not elect to attach the raccoon's face to the hat.  Because I wouldn't let him.  A. remarked that he figured I probably wouldn't let Cubby wear the hat if I was faced with the raccoon's final grimace of rage every time my child wanted to keep his head warm.  That is correct.

He did put the tail on, though.  Because what's a coonskin cap without a tail?

Cubby the Cossack.

My husband and my son, two of a (sort of weird) kind.

And this is Cubby explaining the hat is too itchy.  So A. glued a flannel liner into it.

Okay, so it's kind of bizarre, but it is pretty impressive that A. managed to make it from live animal to hat.  I haven't yet found anything A. can't do.  Providing it's something he actually wants to do.

And in other wildlife news, remember the fox attack?  Well, besides the dead hen and the two missing chicks, the rooster was M.I.A.  We didn't see him at all on Saturday, so we figured he was another casualty.  But then, yesterday when we were sitting at the table in the breakfast room eating lunch, what did I see go lurching by the window but the toughest damned rooster in the world.

He was kind of a mess.  Most of his long tail feathers were missing, his comb was swollen, and his head was hanging as if he had some broken bones.  A. went out to examine him and return him to the coop and reported he still had both eyes and his beak, plus some wounds around his neck and chest that were already healing.  The fact that he managed to make it back to the house from where ever the fox dropped him is a good sign, and there's a pretty good chance he'll recover.

If he does, he'll cease being "the rooster."  Because if ever an animal deserved the name of Lazarus, this one does.

And now I don't know where to end, so we'll just stop here.