Pipkin: [while all are digging in the rain] What's happening back home, I wonder? Remember, when we lived in our old burrow? Dry, soft, warm bodies huddled together in a pile...
Dandelion: [to Hazel] Look, we can't go on like this. There is just too much to do here in the new burrow. We could be lazy in the old burrow. Like rabbits should be.
Silver: It keeps getting worse and worse. No matter how much we dig nobody is happy. They just keep complaining that we don’t do enough. How many holes can we make in one day?
Hazel: It won't be much longer, then we can all rest. You know we have big plans. Once we get the burrow just right we will have a lot of help. I promise.
Silver: How MUCH longer?
Pipkin: We never should have left.
Blackberry: Suppose Fiver's all wrong? Suppose we should have stayed at the old burrow.
Pipkin: Do you want to go back and find out.
Hazel: Go back? After all we've been through? I don’t think so. I mean we can go for a visit but we don’t want to live there. You don’t remember all the bad things. You remember how she liked to have a few drinks and start fights with all the people in the garden. I know she likes her cocktails.
Bigwig: That’s’ right. Everyone is always fighting over there. And people are always leaving and saying they will never come back. The lady who owns the garden is always getting in fights with everyone. She made that woodpecker leave and take all his holes with him. And the senile old cat left to live in the Hamptons and lick himself in the sun. She even got in a fight with a ghost and a cockroach. Who fights with a cockroach?
Hazel: She does like to stir things up. She is always talking about some Eskimo Lady and all these people that started a band in the city banging drums and stuff. The regular things that happen have gone by the wayside. Nobody waters the flowers. She doesn’t nibble on a nice carrot like she used to. And I guess nobody wants to munch on her lettuce anymore.
Dandelion: I don’t know this lady. What is she like?
Bigwig: It’s hard to describe. She likes to show off but then she gets mad when people talk about what she is doing. It’s hard to understand. She is not like rabbits. Rabbits just do it and don’t worry about who is watching. As long it is not elil.
Pipkin: Well you should be fair. She has her friends. And the farmer who lives with her now. I think he said that he likes to toss her lettuce.
Dandelion: Ewwwwwwww!!!
Hazel: Yes it is true. She always sat around showing everything to everyone. That is why so many people would stop by. It was very crowded. But there were a lot of arguments and fights. Rabbits like it peaceful. Maybe it will be better for rabbits now. Things could change for the better. Bigwig, you can lead a patrol over there soon. Then we will know what to do.
26 comments:
I could use a good psychiatrist but 1) how do you find such an elusive cat and 2) how do you afford him once found? Other than that everything's A-OK copacetic.
I know I'm in trouble if I can follow Troop's allegories but not the comment section.
You are the Subtle Sultan of Sarcasm, dude.
Remember how pissed off MamaM used to get over these?
She's mellowed some. Like HDHouse I guess.
hdhouse has joined Bissage in the land of wind and ghosts.
I'd like to be a fly on the wall at the retirement village where all those former Althousians go.
chickenlittle: Here you are! We all take turns walking on these walls.
Speaking of insects, my youngest son, who is, in point of fact, Tommy of blogging cockroach fame, tells me that he is getting too old to have anything more to do with such silliness.
He says he squashed the little fellow by accident a year ago, when he slammed the lid shut on Mom's laptop after finishing a 12-page History paper at 2 in the morning. He says he wasn't all that sorry to have done it, because b c (as he called him) was turning into a real pest, always wanting to use the laptop to write his stories, when Tommy needed it for schoolwork.
I was frankly shocked, as I had grown used to b c, and was willing to accept blogging help wherever I could find it. I just hope this doesn't increase Tommy's Karmic load, and that b c is reborn at least as a Harvard student, instead of just a nearby Cambridge resident.
I told Tommy I hoped those stories he used to write about his imaginary friend, Brian, and the life-sized, talking letter "T" were under copyright, because they were damn good, and if we could find someone to illustrate them, he might have a great children's book series on his hands.
He said, "Daaad! I'm NOT writing children's books! I'm 14 years old and want nothing to do with kiddie stuff!"
I said, "Ah, but I wish you were 4 years old, and I could sit nestled between you and your brother reading you both Thomas the Tank Engine stories forever."
At that, he made to pound the table, but caught himself, saying, "Daad! I'm NOT a little kid any more. I'm even shaving! And you want me to stay little Tommy, playing with literary cockroaches and talking letters?"
"No, I understand," I said, "just as long as everything's copyrighted and you've made fair copies."
tits
It's very tame in the Garden today.
Ritmo and Cedarford don't come around much, either.
Ritmo and Cedarford don't come around much, either.
Cedarford was here? I guess I missed that.
To Althouse's site, silly one.
I'm listening, ricpic.
Meanwhile, Deborah, the MamaM is working her own garden, putting in annuals and replacing divots as directed.
Memorial Day is a good day for dreaming, planting, and driving a bus almost anywhere.
Even those three wheeled Can Am Roadsters the MamaM saw advertised last night are starting to look good. No funds for such, but those Rolling Thunder photos stirred and acknowledged something that smelled like possibility.
Speaking of which, Hope and Change is possible with or without a good psychiatrist. Sometimes all it takes is connecting with another who is able to listen deeply, show kindness and stay present and attentive while walking alongside the one following the bread crumb trail.
The traditional recipe for finding an elusive or lost cat is to look first in the immediate surrounding area with the expectation they are not as far off as they seem.
Mama, are you confessing to being HD?!
Very sweet thoughts, thanks.
She made that woodpecker leave and take all his holes with him.
You mean the owl?
In a farm setting, it is usually the Mama who calls "Here, chick, chick, chick, chick, chick" while tossing out the cracked corn. Not the reverse.
In Amy's Garden, things are not as they seem. Little chickens fish, owls flush, and cats lose their bearings along with their marbles.
The fox chases the rabbit round
The rabbit hides beneath the ground
For he is defenceless without you
What do bunnies do, Mama?
What do bunnies do, Mama?
The Rabbit writes
Relentlessly
Tap, tap, tapping
On boarded keys
While his bunnies
Hoppily tap toes,
Sing and compose
Off key and on.
Well done!
medium rare!
^^^ Overdone!
If chickens are drawn to blood,
are little chickens drawn to a little blood?
True to old form, MamaM rises from the shadows of Amy's Garden to expound on the following curiosity from chicken keeping secrets :
Pecking at each other is normal chicken behavior. It’s probably the most used form of communication amongst a flock.
Normal pecking will often result in a wound.
When chickens draw blood, they go a little berserk. For some reason blood sends everyone into a frenzy and they attack the wounded animal. The more blood there is, the more they attack. There is a sort of cumulative effect.
The more blood there is, the more they attack. There is a sort of cumulative effect.
Sounds like chickens and sharks have something in common.
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