First Day Of Pre-School

I let the gosling pre-teen punks out at 6:37 a.m.  At 6:37 a.m. it was raining.  At 6:37 a.m., the punks had their first experience with rain.  

They were moving so fast, my camera couldn't focus.  They would eat grass and watch the ducks, over yonder and did as the ducks do.

My ducks are 1 year old rain pro's and therefore, kept their distance.  It's a seniors don't hang with sophomores kinda thing.

What chocolate is to most women...

Or, what Cadbury Eggs are to my sister-in-law, Jamie...

And Diet Coke is to everyone else on the planet, water is to fowl.  The punks ate what the ducks ate, ran like the ducks ran and flapped their wings like the....you know.

Steers just want hay.

It better be delivered on time.

Or you're gonna get it!

Your name will be mud!

Hi punks!  Could you hold still please for one, single, focused picture of your first day of pre-school?

Fowl care not if you're standing in the rain trying to photograph their beauty.  They have bugs to eat, puddles to slurp, and feathers to preen.

If anyone needs me, I'll be in the house, dry as a bone.

Everything Grows

Peek-a-boo!  Nope, I didn't get a heavenly orange cat.  My mom sent me this picture and I deemed it blog worthy.  B-Lowe would die of anaphylactic shock if I brought a cat home.  I had to spell check 'anaphylactic'.  Raise your hand if you would, too.

Are you feeling the throws of summer coming on?  Have you been enjoying your spring flowers?

Have you pruned your rose bushes?   Are you smiling at the new growth?

Is your Clematis feelin' fine?

Do you have a favorite wind chime from Missoula, Montana, hanging someplace?

Are your goslings as big as turkeys (almost)?

They have a life now.

Grassing.

Preening.

Talking...

Talking some more...

Alllll the long day.

I left the grass clippings on the lawn yesterday to see if they would LOVE it.

I'm their favorite person now.  Forever.  They told me so.

It's all about the grass, baby!

See their new feathers coming in?

Soon, that baby fluff will be no more and they will be classified as "Pre-teens".

I'm talking about that gosling fuzz that feels like a Minky couture blanket.

I imagine it's the same feeling as your child going from onesies to separate tops and bottoms.

My mom used to say to me, "I think I'm going to put you in the freezer, you're getting too big."

That was back when I wore dresses.  That means, a long, long, long, L-O-N-G time ago.  She should have listened to that inner voice.  

Because, some years later, her tune changed to: "YOU are the reason why I understand why some mother's eat their young."  I owe her big time.