Remember the show Green Acres? Those of a certain age will. Eddy Albert, one of the Gabor sisters (Kim? No, wait...), and a host of goofballs, hilarious talking pigs and rural stereotypes misunderstood one another for a half hour every week. It was Beverly Hillbillies in reverse. Anyway, I sing the theme song to myself as I walk up the hill towards the coop. I sing it if Lili is heading that way, too, which is a much more common event.
"Greeeeeeeen Acres is the place to be...."
Shaggy, bowing to instinct that predates his species' domestication, grabbed a chicken by the wing yesterday. Good choice, Shag. The wing is the best part. He snorted at me when I asked him if it tasted like chicken. He looked funny with a tiny feather hanging off his lower lip.
After Lili corralled Shag - and Moxie the not-so-innocent bystander - the chickens continued on their jaunt around the yard, though close to things they thought might protect them should Shag the Barbarian reappear. Lili and I repaired to the deck to watch the ferry arrive. Over the trees we saw a bald eagle soaring effortlessly toward the water. Mild panic ensued: Eagles like chicken, too, we exclaimed. If that guy saw the chickens a-hunting and a-pecking, the bout with Shag would become a footnote to history. Alls well, however.
A doe walked into the yard yesterday when Lili was out. They studied one another for a while. One of them took a dump on the grass and left. I hope she comes back.
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