Thursday, July 10, 2008

Under the Kryptonian Sun

As I drove through smoke filled country roads this morning on my way to work with the windows down (No air conditioning, so to keep myself from becoming a smoked Ham, I have the windows open) I went over the perks of having a world populated with super heroes as opposed to what we have now. A world populated with... well, whatever they are, a good portion aren't super heroes. There are notable exceptions, such as the fire fighters out there battling a blaze in 100+ degree temps, in full protective suits, going 60+ hour shifts without rest, so I can sit here on my but in relative comfort and jabber at you on this blog. However, wouldn't it be nice if Superman could show up, just long enough to help them with the containment? Just for a short burst of time of course, because if he stays any longer god only knows who'd follow him onto our beloved little speck of space rock.

By the time I got to work, I'd pretty much set the entire line of though aside since I had work to pay attention to, and lately I need all my concentration just for that. Smoke clogged brain cells don't work very well. After work, I went out and goofed off with a friend/co-worker. Dinner was had at a place called the Macaroni Grill, and afterwards we sat a talked for a while. On the way back to my car, I happened to look up and see this big fat red orb sitting gravid in the sky. My God! When did Mars get that close?! Then I realized I was looking at the sun filtered through many many layers of smoke and ozone. Its Red. Like the sun on Superman's home world. I couldn't help grinning a bit at this given my earlier train of thought. If Supes charges like a battery under our yellow sun, what effect would a red sun have on us? I can hardly wait to see the results. On a side note, in the Superman mythos I don't believe a red sun does a darn thing for us puny humans, but hey, we're not in the DC universe, so those rules don't apply. Hmm.

So, above is the best picture I could get of Curly. She's awfully camera shy, and it didn't help that my idiot dog was running the chicks around in circles. The other chickens have figured out that if they immediately scatter in every conceivable direction once released from confinement (i.e. The Chicken Coop), my dog (aka the herding dog through and through) doesn't bother them for the most part. Although she does what my Mom refers to as "Exploding a Chicken", in which a certain inattentive hen is stalked, and then nosed violently. Result? A squawking, flying, feather ball of indignant surprise sailing into the air under its own power. I swear to god the dog stands there grinning with undisguised glee when she successfully punches another chicken's button.  The new arrivals on the other hand have NOT discovered the usefulness of running solo, or in smaller groups. My dog LOVES the fact that '7' chickens move in a group when she pushes with her presence. She never uses her teeth, but just runs around them trying to move them, which is very successful with our new cast of "the Young and the Ignorant." Someday they'll get a clue. I hope.

Well, once again I've run over the finishing line of midnight, and I'm just plain worn out. So, I will bid you all a goodnight and crash for my appointed sleepy time. Night. :)

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Smazy Days of the Blast Furnace

Its so wonderful to wake up in the morning, stretch, yawn, and then look out into the bright lovely new day. Sun is shining under bright blue skies and you can hear the chickens clucking to be let out. Birds are singing, and the tractor addicted neighbor is outside ripping something to pieces. Sounds nice right? Well forget it. This will be week three of smoke, heat, and the disturbing feeling of sunburned lungs for me. Outside the window next to me is a swirling mass of malignant noxious yellow grey smoke (Thanks to you 10,000 acre fire. I raise my inhaler to you), full of fine particles that would make even the most brave hearted flee the scene. There is no night breeze to cool things down. There is only 100 degree dry heat out there, and it was worse at work. 10 degrees hotter. Imagine cranking up a walk in oven to 300 degrees, leaving all those burnt left overs in there. Now walk in... It literally feels like a blast furnace and smells like a baking experiment gone horribly wrong. So, what you do in fact wake up to are the clouds of Venus, yellow and deadly, swirling the air. Birds choking instead of singing... and my tractor addicted neighbor is still out there ripping something to pieces. Absolutely no worries about his own health I suppose... Eh.

Since its freaking hot, and we have no air conditioning in the house, I've been cooking the dogs given that I can't let them outside in all the smoke for too long. Otherwise they come in coughing and choking just like the birds. To show them just how much I appreciate their dedicated drive to melt, I got them these weird little mats that supposedly give off the feeling of being cool. I may just shove them off those mats and use it myself tonight given my sleep deprived state and my total devotion to being greedy. I jest. Stop eyeballing my blog like that.

I wonder if those mats would work for chickens? Hmm, its a thought. We'll see how well they work.

Speaking of chickens, I finally have pictures of the feather balls. Specifically the chicks with all their feathers in, and looking mighty fine. Except for Super Peeper who appears to have acquired the ire of a fellow chick. Make a wild guess who is denuding said SP? That's right. The insane Cochin, who we call curly. For a while there we thought she was a frizzle because her feathers were curly/twisted. Curly follows SP around and plucks his tail feathers while he's not paying attention. Its like watching siblings. "Hey, pay attention to me. Me! Here! Stop looking for bugs damn it! Look at ME!" Suspicions run high as to whether or not this is the reason for SP's total and complete lack of spine. Hmmm. More things to ponder.

One last note of no particular interest, but my Dad found a little visitor in one of the plastic garbage cans we use to store the chicken feed. Cute as a button. .. To me at least. WARNING: If mice scare you until you are unable to do anything but shriek, drool, and mumble incoherently DO NOT SCROLL DOWN FURTHER. If you must scroll down, please do so quickly to avoid permanent damage to the psyche.

And now... a Deer Mouse for your viewing pleasure. ;)

Hope your lungs all have a better day than mine. :)

PS. The chicken is a Dark Brahma. LOVE the color pattern!