Seriously....This is a Disease

Just one more and then really, I have so many other things to do. And tell you. And show you. But I just had to run this one past all y'all. Isn't that irritating when people from California say "y'all?" And I'm not even from Bakersfield.

So last night, I got out the DVD series that my dear friend, Teresa, loaned me. (Sorry Teresa! I know it was only TWO MONTHS ago but I had to read those books you loaned me first!)You've seen Teresa's name pop up here if you read comments. She even actually KNOWS me so right there is proof I have friends in real life. And she still comes around here. Which also shows you my friends might be as mental as I am.

Bo had been away for four days at Disneyland/Huntington Beach on her senior trip - with hey! Teresa as one of the chaperones and planner/coordinator extraordinaire - and now she was home and I was glad because I was MISSIN' her. I let her sleep until 1pm, then The Wild Man and I hunkered down to listen to all the fun details of her trip. Afterwards I paid bills, ordered a year book for her, shopped graduation announcements, worked on plans for her graduation party, sent out save-the-date emails, blogged, and then at some point, drew a breath and had an epiphany (it's like a baby but it hurts a lot less): "We gotta watch 'The Waltons' or Teresa's gonna kill me!" I mean, I'd been wanting to watch it but couldn't figure out when.

My kids have never seen it so I envisioned this tender family moment wherein midwest, depression-era values, and bonding, and all things good would be emulated and modeled for us on screen. From a writer's perspective. With Richard Thomas playing "John Boy," the writer/narrator. Bo wants to write. This would be so meaningful to her. I could feel the mother/daughter bonding being born at that very moment from my own body. It was so real I nearly nursed it, diapered it, and stuck it in a crib.

"Doesn't that sound good?" I inquired of my dual progeny. The hairy-legged child had to be pulled off "Guitar Hero" with the Jaws of Life and the girl who had just arrived from "The Happiest Place on Earth!" wasn't all that happy. She was missing her fun friend time and unbridled freedom. The bosom of her family was a poor second to the thrill-a-minute world from which she had recently transported. She also wanted to read a book while we watched. It's good to be loved.

And then there's me with possible ADD issues. (Thank you, Sharon, my dear follower friend. Your check for analysis is in the mail. You may be on to me.) The very second Richard Thomas's face loomed onto the screen I started doing it. "Look at that smile........who IS that?" This one didn't take me long. Hands down, it was Scarlet Johanson. Is Richard Thomas her father, Luke?

Again, I say, YOU be the judge.

Look at the TEETH! The nose! The shape of face! Okay, so she plucks her eyebrows. Work with me.


Alright, that's it. I'll leave you alone now. It may be that you actually have to see the lift of his head as he smiles over the pool table at Ike Godsey and the Sheriff. You might have to rent the very first episode of The Waltons. You might have to take an Excedrin after reading this and wonder what in the world you were thinking when you decided to hang out with me. Go back to your lives as they were before I tried to infect you. If you haven't caught it, run away. It is terminal. I'll live with it until I die. If I bug anymore people, that might be sooner rather than later.

Copyright 2009

Twins? YOU Be The Judge.

I have one television program I watch. That's it. I used to have two. Then I started blogging. Now any media time I have is spent here. But I do watch it, religiously, if religiously means most of the time I forget it's on and then I have to watch it through my cable company. My program is "LOST." I've been watching from the beginning and I still don't know what's going on so if you want to jump on board now, just remember: they don't call it "LOST" for no reason.

Maybe my problem is I can't focus. You know how I shared about our family affliction of morphing names? And a whole bunch of you said you have this same condition? Well, I have another problem. I can't help making face associations. I will watch a program or movie and keep thinking the whole time, "Who the heck does this actor remind me of?" And then I'll ask my family why I can't understand what's happening in the show or movie and they always say the same thing: "Aren't you WATCHING?!"

Well, uh, sorta. I'm watchin' that face.

I think I should work for the FBI or CIA or something. If some known criminal tried to slip out of the country in drag, I'd spot 'em immediately. I wouldn't necessarily crack the case but I'd say, "Hey! Stop that guy! He reminds me of somebody!" And then I'd spend my whole lunch hour replaying the tape and buggin' other agents who were watching security cameras by saying, "Can't you see it? Look. Look over here at MY monitor. See? Now who does that remind you of? What? Madea? Hey, you're right! That's Tyler Perry!"

And then they'd fire me.

But maybe I could draw my pension until I drop dead. That's what our senators and congressman get to do. They just have these short jobs and then we pay their pensions for the rest of their lives. Oh for pity's sake, how did I climb up on THAT soap box? I really should wear a seatbelt and stay in it.

Where was I? Face recognition, that's right, and that program I watch, "LOST." The actor who kept reminding me of someone is Josh Holloway. He plays a character named Sawyer, or James, depending on who's talking to him.

Another favorite actor (or actress, if you will) is Jodie Foster. And one night, after reliving movie scenes in my head, I saw it. And I exclaimed, "That's IT! That's who Sawyer reminds me of! It's Jodie Foster! They even have a similar way of talking!" No one really caught my excitement. They kept telling me to watch the program. I WAS watching and I still have no idea what's going on.

But I decided to look up those famous faces online and compare them. You tell me. Separated at birth? One very busy actor? Swimmin' in the same gene pool?

I have this affliction when we go places, too, and sometimes tell people, "You look just like my Great Aunt Gertrude." (And I don't even HAVE an Aunt Gertrude.) My husband wants to kill me or pretend I'm a vagrant he's never seen before. (That probably tells you more about how I dress than it should.) I guess it is embarrassing when the person I'm telling is the 18-year-old produce guy. I try to refrain. No really. I'm so much better than I used to be.

I have to be. I can't afford to get fired from this wife/mother job. Gotta keep workin' for life cause there's no pension whatsoever. Even though I was voted into office.

Copyright 2009

Happy Sanitarium - The Interview

The lovely lady you see to the far left in this photo is Naomi, author of "Diaries of the Happy Sanitarium". I know I shared this yesterday and don't expect you to be in your dotterage,* completely unable to remember a salient fact from as short a time ago as yesterday. However, in the event I have hundreds of new readers today who are not familiar with this tome (and the likelyhood of that is prodigious), I felt new introductions were in order. Henceforth, I will dispense with the overuse of advanced vocabulary words as I have now exhausted my vast mental lexicon. Oh hark! And anon! There is this one thing more.....

*Dotterage: A word not included in modern dictionaries but which, prima facie, is, at the least, colloquial in nature. Okay, I'm done.

Let the interview begin!

Robynn: How long have you been blogging and why did you start?

Naomi: I think I've been blogging since August 2008. I started originally to keep my family updated on our going's on up here... we live at least 5 hours away from our immediate families now, and I was tired of sending mass e-mails to family, and not really being sure of who I should include, if they consider it nagging, etc. Then I'd feel all weird if folks didn't email me back, it was like they were ignoring me speaking to them, and it made me obsess. With a blog, it's nice (really nice!) if people leave comments, but I don't feel as tho I am shoving my kid's adorable little stories in their face all the time. Nobody FORCES them to check it, after all. And, I really HATE Facebook. I know, I'm weird. But, it is a visually obnoxious web program, and that irritates me. There are reasons why there are rules for designing websites that will make people return to them. Visually obnoxious programs should not, IMHO, be used, or encouraged by anyone. It just encourages the little geeks in their little cubicles to make more visually obnoxious programs, and then the world is overrun by visual obnoxiousness.

Robynn: I couldn't agree more, Naomi. I was turning myself inside out to share, through email, stunning and revelatory information with my friends and yet it seemed few were riveted by my musings. Now that I've started a blog they complain that they never hear from me. Isn't that just the way? Oh sorry! This interview wasn't about ME was it....... Apparently I never miss an opportunity for good, cathartic therapy. Moving on......

Robynn: What has been the most fun and/or rewarding part about blogging?

Naomi: Well, when I started I had NO IDEA that so many of my friends & acquaintances through our church etc., had blogs. I just never thought about it before. But, I used to work, so never really even thought about connecting with other people. At the end of the day, I was done with other people. So, now that I'm a SAHM, it has totally forced me into this world of motherhood, where you're SO GLAD to connect with other moms who speak kid all day long as well. Blogging is a great way to do that, cuz you don't have to pay gas money or over-minutes charges on your cell phone to connect, and you don't have to make a play date to do it... you just switch the laundry, empty the dishwasher, fold a pile of clothes, put shoes away, start dinner, and then take a break for 5 minutes here and there on the computer.

Robynn: What has been your biggest surprise?

Naomi: The thing that has actually surprised me the most is how posts can totally take on a life of their own. When I'd read an author's notes on a novel, or something, I'd always sniff my nose when they'd say something like, "I couldn't wait to see how this story I've written ended!" That always made me go, "Umm. Duh, you're writing it. You should know how it ends!" But it's really true for me, in my little blogging way, sometimes my posts really sprout wings and fly in a different direction then I've planned for them, or things that I planned to get in there totally end up not working. I'm not, by any means, any sort of novelist, but it is a creative outlet using words, so I don't feel as though it is unreasonable to use that parallel example... :-)

Robynn: What are your greatest frustrations?

Naomi: Can't think of anything. If something frustrates me, I usually don't touch it at all, ever. I will blog as long as it makes me happy to do so. The day it becomes irritating is the day I quit. Life is far to short to do quit-able things that irritate you. Sadly, I cannot treat cleaning my toilets the same way.

Robynn: Have you learned anything through blogging you don't think you would have otherwise?

Naomi: I think so. I've discovered I love web design, the marketing aspect of it. I'm currently exploring options for doing more of that, as time and budget allow. I've always in the past had my fingers in marketing in one way or another at my previous jobs, and I'd love to learn more about that from a web design standpoint, as well as learning a few different web design languages. I've spent so many years hunched over a computer, I've discovered that even as a SAHM, I'm happiest at the end of the day that I've had a lot of productive time in front of the computer. Then I look at the laundry pile, and happy goes down the tubes, but it makes me momentarily happy, anyhoo.

Robynn: Do you ever feel like blogging is a waste of time or do you see it as enriching your life?

Naomi: I am on a continual quest to only do things that enrich my life, or contribute to the wellness of my family. I think it would be VERY RIDICULOUSLY easy to waste time blogging... that is why I rarely post more than 2-3 times a week, depending on what I'm posting about. But, I had to discover that when it comes to reading blogs I ONLY read blogs regularly that truly contribute to me in some way. I was getting overwhelmed for a while by blogs I was trying to fit in. I now only allow myself blogs from people I really care about or challange and uplift me...
Family/Friends blogs. One humor blog--thats' you, Robynn!--and I stop by a few of your pals as time allows. The Pioneer Woman, cuz hey, I've read her since 2006, can't stop now. Dutch Girl Cooking, cuz I love food, and I love food photography, and I actually use her recipes... so that's a keeper. And, I read Sew, Mama, Sew-- I like to keep my hand in the sewing blog world just a little bit, cuz ya never know what you might learn, but I had to stop reading a bajillion sewing blogs, because I discovered it irritated me more that it enriched me. So many great ideas, so little time. I'm like a fat kid with a tray of cupcakes when it comes to sewing projects. I WANT TO EAT THEM ALL. Or, do them all, anyway.

Robynn: Ever had any flamers or weirdos?

Naomi: Nope! Not yet. I keep this a matter of prayer. I want only encouraging and uplifting things on my blog. As I am a Christian, if someone saw something on my blog that touched them, or made them want Christ for themselves, and wanted to contact me, I would want them to be able to get in touch with me. Also, we LOVE where we live, and it's a huge part of our lives to appreciate it, so my blog wouldn't be complete without that being a part of it. I decided that if I'm to be a testimony for Christ in every aspect of my life, I'll hopefully do that in internet land as well, follow basic safety precautions, and leave the rest with Him.

Robynn: What advice would you give someone starting a blog?

Naomi: To be sure to never embarrass anyone with your blog. Sometimes you can get carried away with a story, or something, and people can inadvertantly get the wrong impression from something that you've said. Especially if you're a sarcastic sort. The written word will always be stronger than the spoken word, in that each person who reads it imagines a different tone of voice with what they're reading,and the whole copy and paste thing, and e-mail forwarding, and all that. I don't think I've ever embarrassed someone, but I would consider that to be ultimately horrifying.

Robynn: Who is your favorite blogger? (Okay, sounds like I'm pandering here but, seriously, do you have a blog that you have learned a lot from, has been especially inspirational or uplifting, or that you feel you can never miss?)

Naomi: My "read regularly" list is VERY limited, and the ones I do read are there because I walk away from them with something. I have others that I check in with every week or every couple weeks. That being said, if I read something that touches me, or causes a thought it my head, or cheers me up, or whatever, I do leave a comment. I used to not, because who cares what I think? But, since I've started blogging, I've realized how EVERY comment is read and appreciated to a blog author, so I do try to keep that in mind, and always comment when I stop by a blog.

Thank you so much, Naomi, for being willing to take the time for this interview, sharing your thoughts, and letting us get to know you. It was great getting to meet you, Frank Castle, Kiki and Debris, and the rest of the gang. Maybe we'll see each other on a four-wheel drive trail sometime. But, in the meantime, you know I'll be dropping in regularly!

Copyright 2009

Diaries of the Happy Sanitarium....Live and Unplugged!

I don't remember how Naomi and I found each other. She lives in the gorgeous state of Washington and authors the blog, "Diaries of the Happy Sanitarium" Her awe inspiring nature shot on her blog banner first caught my eye.

Soon I was reading, and laughing, and checking on the girls, and I was hooked. I loved her "mom" style and her humorous writing. I followed her....she followed me.....I enjoyed watching her little girls at ages and stages my kids had passed. And we had fun hangin' out, even though I'm old enough to be her mom.

One day, Frank Castle, her husband popped in. He was a hoot, too. And during one of the "Follow Me" promotions, he signed on as my 100th follower. I'll never forget. Triple digits felt huge. Still does! Of course, he told me I owed him ice cream, or some such extortion.

And he's a smart alec and I'm a smart alec so we got along like two smart alecs.

And they have a 4x4 and we have a 4x4. And they do a driving thing called "Going Losting," so named by their little girls, and we do a driving thing called "Point and Drive" so named by a three-year-old Wild Man. And our 4x4 is a Jeep, which is way better than their 4x4, which is a Land Rover. But not according to Frank Castle who likes to disparage our Jeep. And, of course he would, since he hasn't moved up to a Jeep yet.

So, who knew I'd ever have to make good on buying that deadbeat an ice cream until Naomi announced she had a sister who lived in Fresno and was getting married? That was gonna cost me five bucks!

You gotta pay your debts.

And if you're REALLY lucky, you get to meet blogging friends face-to-face. Being really new to blogging, I had never had the opportunity to do this and it seemed too good to miss. We made arrangements, met at a park with 400 of her relatives - just kidding - it was only 200 (all gorgeous girls, every one of 'em) - and brought dogs and kids and had some laughs. Those girls were just a CRACK up, too!

I, of course, showed up toting this so Frank Castle wouldn't be able to talk smack about me.


It wasn't the frozen version but it gave him certificates to redeem. Gotta have somethin' to do while the "Rovey" is in the shop gettin' repaired, again........

And then there were THESE lovlies! Kiki and Debris with Daisy the Dog in between them. They belong to Naomi and Frank and are the subject of many funny blog posts. If you need a new take on the term "Diary" in keeping with the Sanitarium, you should check out this post: "Sunday School Mishaps" but put your coffee down first.

Bo and Minky were in on the playground action.

My little friend, Naomi (left), with a bevy of beauties. All were here for the wedding and trying to get a little sun before the big day. The bride is in the center right with red shirt and long dark hair.

Bo tries to guide Minky (who is modeling her Aerobie Fly Toy) out of her favorite play place - any standing water - fetid, muddy, slimy, or, as a last resort, clean.

And somebody's got to be loved, adored, and kissed by all these girls. Frank Castle decided to cowboy up and meet the challenge. Some guys give til it hurts.

We had great laughs and I told Naomi I wanted to interview her when she got home (that will be up tomorrow). I would love to do that with every dear blogging friend I get to meet. I think it would be a blast!

So drop in tomorrow and see what Naomi has to say, up close and personal. You'll love her!

Copyright 2009

The Ice Cream Man Cometh (Insert Jaws Music)

It will be 98 degrees in Fresno by Monday. Two days ago it was 68. Welcome to much of California.

The beach areas and some far northern locations are usually spared. The rest of us just pray for death. Summer tends to come unexpectedly and with a vengeance. I don't know WHY we don't expect it. It happens every year. But each season we optimistically anticipate mild temperatures while failing to remember this pertinent fact: volcanoes will not erupt in our vicinity because they can't take the heat. Occasionally some outsider will make the comment that at least it's a "dry heat." Yeah, well, so is a blow torch but I'm not volunteering to stand in front of one.

And with the searing weather will come the ice cream man. This will not be the ice cream man of my youth. Gone is the fellow with the friendly, toothy smile and white Garrison cap perched at a jaunty angle on his head. Gone is the alluring truck with lovely decals advertising enticing frozen concoctions. Gone is the perfect ice cream treat that when unwrapped, looked exactly like the picture promised it would.

I think Stephen King designed the ice cream truck and driver that now prowls the city streets of California.

It would seem apparent the legislature passed a bill requiring all said trucks to be in a demolition derby before hitting the road. This should be followed by a "Thelma and Louise" style vault over and into a canyon.

When the truck body is appropriately mangled, it must be abandoned, in the rain, for at least a year. This will create the rust and dirt needed to create the "war-zone chic" effect. The decals will have been applied on the assembly line so they are now barely visible and scuffed beyond recognition.

The music blasted from the truck as it travels through your neighborhood will be as damaging to your nerves as electrocution, but far slower. It will warble and dip so as to never hit its proper pitch, even by accident, and won't pause even when parked. And the truck will not visit your area once a day but will be on a continuous merry-go-round loop passing by at least 400 times.

Should you be a thrill seeker and, horror-of-horrors, let your kids approach and buy something, you will be most fortunate indeed if your ice-cream has retained its original shape and/or coatings. More likely it will look like a science project comparing the ice-age effects against global warming; continuous freeze vs. melt and thaw.

You will also discover the ice-cream man comes in, primarily, two frightening flavors.

The first will be an ex New York City cab driver. He will hate you for trying to do business with him but you will only know this by his contorted angry countenance and volume of voice. You will never understand a word he says and when you order a Missle Pop you will receive a Drumstick. You are not allowed to protest or he will run over you. Sometimes he will have a wife sitting in the back of the truck to retrieve the items he barks out. Hopefully, she will be unchained.

The second flavor will be the reason my children will require future therapy for trauma and are never allowed to make purchases from the rolling danger wagon. They were taught when they were little to run back inside if they heard the music because I didn't even want the driver to know children lived here.

It was a friend who informed me about this type years ago. Her brother was released from prison and got a job driving an ice-cream truck. He said lots of ex-felons did this. And many of them were sex-offenders. Her brother had done time for drug charges. That was concerning to me considering he hadn't overcome his problem. But sex-offenders, including rapists and child-molesters, are allowed to drive ice-cream trucks where would-be victims come running to them. If you find this hard to believe go here. The A.C.L.U. is all for it. Apparently, they don't have children. Or brains. For a complete list of things to be terrified of with your local ice cream driver, go to "Do You Really Know Your Ice Cream Truck Man?"

Why can't we get this guy?

Or this truck?


Or this one run by a whole family, even their children, in Grand Forks, North Dakota?



Not on my street, I can tell you. I want little children hanging out of windowed ice cream trucks happily advising would-be customers. I want to believe in happiness and families working together for the common good. Maybe they even homeschool and have little desks set up in there. Can't I believe that if I want to? Can't they come to my neighborhood?

All of this occurred to me as I dropped into my friend's blog this morning. She takes interesting shots of life around New York City and you can see my inspiration here at her blog called "On The m104." She took a picture of an oncoming ice cream truck. I knew by the shiny chrome grill on the front and sheer gleaming cleanliness it exuded, our worlds had nothing in common.

So bring on the heat California. You're going to anyway. And when the urge to soothe my fevered brow seems to be provided by the creamy goodness of icy decadence, you will find me roaming the aisles of the frozen food section at Whole Foods looking for my fix. If the ice cream man comes prowling into the neighborhood, we'll be locked in the house, thank you very much.

Disclaimer: My sincere apologies to any ice cream truck driver reading this who drives in California and whose person and truck do not fit this description. You have my utmost appreciation and gratitude. Please come to Fresno. We might erect a statue in your honor.

(I have a long history with ice cream issues. If you'd like to read about about my childhood waywardness, you can go here.)

Copyright 2009

Fingerprint Friday

There is a song by Steven Curtis Chapman that says:

"I can see the fingerprints of God
When I look at you
I can see the fingerprints of God
And I know its true
You're a masterpiece
That all creation quietly applauds
And you're covered with the fingerprints of God."

So look around you and see where YOU can see God's fingerprints. Is it in nature? Kids? Animals? Where do you see them?

Pampering Beki always hosts Fingerprint Friday and if I can, I like to participate. It certainly isn't hard to come up with something this morning.

I am awed and touched God has seen fit to bring all of you dear friends and readers into my life. Your words and laughs and encouragement are beyond what my limited descriptive abilities can convey. You make me feel like a real writer. You cause me to believe I'll get the books out there or the magazine articles. You make me want to grow and be able to tell a publisher (because they always want to know what you've written and, basically, why anyone would bother reading), that I have THIS blog, and THIS body of work, and all these people who are willing to come back, day after day, to read my scribblings. Every new follower adds mightily to my credibility for marketing. And I very much want to publish. Writing is my passion. That you enjoy it and keep returning and encouraging, is my over-the-top blessing.

YOU make me believe it's possible.

With Deepest Gratitude and Love,

Robynn

Never Eat Crow - Part II

When the dove flew back onto the ark, wasn't it carrying an olive branch? I don't remember anything about a finger. And I still seem to have all of mine.

So Twig was back. Now what?

We resigned ourselves to more bird poop inspired masterpieces everywhere.

The backyard chicken coop was still housing a couple of tired out old hens. We decided they might enjoy a fine retirement out at my mom and step-dad's place. They only laid an egg every month or so, the hens not the folks, and mom liked watching them peck around. Red Feathers and Chicken Little would be happy there and that would open up the hen house for a pigeon to live in.

It was hard for Bo to say good-bye to Chicken Little. Daughter and hen shared a special bond. Bo had stepped on Chicken Little's leg when Little was just a peep and the bone had snapped in two. We popsicle-sticked it into a cast and Bo carried the baby invalid around so long, C.L. would lay on her back in Bo's arms and stick her feet straight up in the air every time she was picked up.

We hated to see them leave, too, and tried to make it work with all three, but the hens had a flapping fit every time Twig came into the hen house. Somebody had to move out and Twig had already proven he was not taking part in the Pigeon Relocation Program.

The move was made and, with hardly a ruffled feather, the hens settled in to their new country home. Twig now had the joint to himself. We would open the door to the coop and give him a little fly around during the day. He was never hard to lure back in. All it took was food. He was a man pigeon. What can I say.

During one particular week he was gone - a lot. We began to think he'd broadened his horizons and might be moving on. But then he was back, with luggage. We noticed a little red haired girl pigeon our Charlie Brown was enamored with. She hung out on the periphery and wasn't the least interested in human contact. Twig flew in and out of his cage a hundred times and got down on the ground inside pretending to eat. He pecked and fluffed and cooed and tried, in every way, to convince her the coast was clear. She was not a believer.

Every day the courtship was the same with Twig trying to entice her into his bachelor pad. She would watch him and tip forward, touching her beak to the fence. She looked like a teapot being poured out and that's what we began to call her: Teapot. An unfortunate side-effect to all this was that the Modern Art Bird Poop Museum was growing in its display. What we had tried to eliminate was now expanding. It was in everyone's interest to arrange these nuptials - and fast.

We set out the choicest morsels for the marriage feast. Twig did his part by flying back and forth between Teapot and the supper table. We began to see signs of weakening. She would now fly down to the ground and walk around the outside the coop. We knew our move required cat-like reflexes and a coordinated effort the second she stepped far enough in to slam the gate shut.

For two days she hung around at the threshold and then, as hunger won out, she flew to a perch just inside. The Wild Man seized his opportunity, rushed in, and slammed the door on their future. Teapot went ballistic. Twig was thrilled. Let the honeymoon begin! But an appropriate marriage had to take place first.

You have never seen courtship until you've watched one pigeon applying her lipstick and the other one slickin' down his feathers with hair gel. Pigeons invented the term "Billing and Cooing." There is dancin', yee-hawin', bowing to your partner, and more struttin' than models on a runway. Teapot was a goner and seemed to forget she was now in captivity. She willingly became a slave to love. And her trust wasn't misplaced. Twig attended to her every need.

It wasn't long before she was sitting most of the time. And then I noticed her out pecking and stretching and Twig was sitting. I knew nothing about pigeon parenting but it's very progressive. Their time on the nest was shared equally. And when Twiglet was born (his sibling didn't make it) they tended and fed him together. It turns out pigeons are much like crows. They don't launch their babies until the babies are indistinguishable from the parents in size. It was nearly disgusting to see these poor parents trying to shove food down a bird throat large enough for them to crawl into. It was more reminiscent of "Jaws."

Finally, he ate on his own and Twig and Teapot left for a Bermuda vacation. It didn't pay off, though, because ten minutes later they were sitting again. Two babies were born out of that misspent time-off but they weren't long for this world. JoJo, our Border Collie/McNab was absolutely fascinated with their squawking and flapping and, in a moment of total dog abandon, dug under the edge of the coop and had squab for dinner. There was great dismay and chastisement from the kids and me. (I think Grizzly was cheering for the dog. He couldn't figure out what possible benefit their could be to pigeon replication.) To JoJo's credit, she did her best to look like she felt bad about it. She never really pulled it off.

With just the three birds we decided against adding to the flock and collected eggs when they showed up. And a few years later, before we left for an extended vacation, we relocated them all out to the grandparents' place. The old hens were still kickin' out there but the coop was so huge they barely noticed a few birds flying around. And containment kept Twig from flying home again. He hadn't been free at our house for quite sometime due to his artwork and this coop was big enough to contain a tree. Life was good but Twig passed on eventually and Twiglet married his mother. It became a Greek tragedy.

I told you keeping crows was illegal and now you know why - they turn into demented pigeons. Those Fish and Game people know what they're doing and next time, I'm listening.

Copyright 2009