pound cake, chickens, and toe rings.

I made this cream cheese pound cake today. I had to borrow a bundt pan from my mother-in-law, since I have every other baking dish known to man but this kind.

I just loved how the cake looked in this obviously well-loved pan.

That guy in the back? That's Owen.

While the cake cooled, I went to take some pictures of chicks:

When I opened the door, this is where they were.

Then I called "hey chick, chick, chick," and they all came a-runnin'.

They are in their eighth-grader stage. Their feet are huge, they still have some baby feathers mixed in with adult feathers, sometimes they peep and sometimes they cluck.

Eighth graders.

I learned something new: if you're going to be in a chicken coop, don't wear flip-flops if you have a toe ring on. While I was trying to take pictures, they attacked my toe ring and the poor toe underneath.

This girl (or guy, who knows for sure) is not like the others (sing along ...). McMurray's hatchery throws in a 'rare breed' if you order so many chicks. Well, hopefully they place them in. She's rather special, and not very bright (that's a red flag - I mean, we're talking about chickens) so we've named her Timmy, from the little guy on South Park. We're going to have to get another 'rare breed' so we can make them fight ...


When I came back in, I finished up the cake. Here's the finished product - right before the twelve-year-old boy inhaled it.

I had no idea what to say.

Today as we were driving to Target to, God help me, buy the Peanut a Bikini Barbie because all of her friends had them and they played at recess and she was the only one who couldn't play Mermaids of the Haunted Castle, we had this conversation:

The Nut was explaining to me that one of her friends was "going to be the mom but she didn't know how to be a mom but I know how to be a mom."

Me: "oh yeah?"

Nut: "Yep! When you're a mom you get to work all the time. And you get to drive alllll over the place. And you get to cook. You get to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

She took a breath here.

"And you get to have all the babies."


And just so I don't get sued by my bff, Katie Mihalak took the Nut's picture above.

JackJack's girl troubles

There are some new kids in town.

Twenty-seven new kids, to be exact.

This is JackJack's face whenever he is near the chicks. Which is often, since he goes running over every time the chicks make any noise. Chicks make A LOT of noise.

He doesn't want to eat them - he likes to herd them.

Which would be cute if he was a Border Collie or a Sheepdog, but he's a Pitbull, so it's hilarious.

This little girl is quite the pisser. She is always up on the roost, surveying new places to poop, no doubt. If JackJack gets too close, she pecks his nose, which makes him sneeze. Again, hilarious to everyone but JackJack.

JackJack pouting after a pecking.

This little one kept jumping up and grabbing ahold of my camera strap as I was trying to take pictures.

Her name is now Little Shit.

The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse's ears. ~Arabian Proverb (pets part 1)

My mom would tell anyone who would listen that from the time I could form a thought, I thought about horses. Talked about them, drew them, dreamed of them, even my imaginary friends were horses.

I believe her because it's still true.

I was incredibly lucky as a kid - crazy lucky. I grew up on a small Arabian ranch, surrounded by gorgeous horses. These first two are of a brood mare and one of her colts, Shadda. His name ended up being "Shadda the Shit."

My mom also bragged that I was riding a horse before I could even ride a bike. This is probably because I could care less about a bike; it sure wasn't even remotely equine. I rode every chance I could - even in a play. I don't really remember the whole plot, but I was

the prissy character (there was a 'free-spirited girl' in the play who wore all kinds of lace and no shoes) because I could ride side saddle and had the dress.

Kelly was my last show horse and I loved him with all my heart, but my dad sure didn't. Kelly and I had a connection - I begged my daddy to buy him for me the first time I saw him - I walked into the paddock and he promptly bit a tassel off my coat (hey, it was 1984, if your coat didn't have a tassel or two you simply weren't bitchin'). Turns out he was a one-person horse, loving me but hating everyone else, especially if you were in bite or kick range. If you notice in the picture of Misa and Shadda, the horses had pipe corrals behind each stall. Kelly never, ever did this when I was around, but when my dad was out there alone, Kelly would walk along the corral with his teeth on the top of the pipe, making a horrid screeeeeee noise that rattled Daddy's filling right loose and made his nape hairs stand on end. If Kelly was feeling particularly snarly, he'd trot when he did it.


But the love of my life was Calypso. He was my first real, honest-to-God show horse, and the sweetest thing to ever come into my life. Not only was he amazing, but I now had a horse able to compete in the big-boy shows with my best friend, Karen. I know I don't look happy in these pictures, but that's because I was still nervous when I went into the ring.




But Lippy made sure I was safe. I absolutely had the time of my life between those two, Calypso and Karen. I had to give up Lippers to have the flashy Kelly, and I hated to do it. I hmmmmed and hawed and cried like I had never cried before, but my dad held firm - he said Calypso was a 'starter horse' and I had to stop being so dad-gummed selfish and let someone else, someone who could learn a lot from a horse like Lippers, love him. Yes, my dad really said 'dad-gummed.' Usually only when he was really, really irritated.

Look at his face, his eyes.

I miss you Lippers.

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