The Opossum has been relocated—lured by peanut butter into a live trap. (I read online that someone else’s opossum ate an entire Cosco Cake and looked queezy, so they took him to the hospital.) I took our opossum to a hay field where he beat feet over to the shelter of an abandoned house.
The chickens are still traumatized and have decided roosting high is safer than that fearsome little chicken house. (There is an opening in the back.)
I’m sad they don’t put themselves to bed at night, though, and I don’t want them messing up the boxes in the open garage attached to the Wayback—their chosen roosting spot. So nightly, I crawl up on boxes to gather them up one by one and stuff them into that front door beside the window--that's where the opossum was.)
I blogged a few days ago but decided to check in today. How is life at your abode?
I’ve been trying to refrain from politics, but it’s hard to ignore the sounds of our democracy being smashed.
And Musk wants to do what? Fire judges that disagree with him?!!! Boy, howdy, who put him in charge?
Stupid question. I know who.
I don’t want to ignore so much that I become complacent. Probably that’s what the great powers now in the White House want, for people to follow their bidding or give up.
Either way, folks, get it; keeping people traumatized or asleep makes it easy for a hostile takeover.
Don’t eat our chickens, abandon our wildlife, deport our immigrants, mess with our freedoms, or shut us up.