Backyard Report

Late July. The summer crops are ripening and the pullets are growing up fast. They consider the LaFuma recliner an adequate, if not excellent, perch.

Winona prefers the table, while I prefer not to have it crapped on. She's gradually developing the spectacular laced feather pattern of her breed. Knowing she's going to be pretty, she gets away with being kind of a bitch. Remarkable to realize she had developed this personality about three days out of the egg. (See The New Babies Are Here, Smallest Boss That You Seen Thus Far.)



W: Still the smallest boss; X: "Cheek feathers are not a crime." (Click to enlarge Ximena, if you dare.)

Ximena, meanwhile, has these cheek feathers that won't quit. Her very own chickie godmother says she can't look Ximena in the face. (Doing so can cause a cuteness brain freeze.) And the mutton chops don't lie; she is as sweet as she looks.



Pesto, baby. Thank you, climate change! With all the quiet-panic-inducing hot weather, I finally have some f'real basil. It's rich green and floppy-leafed from growing quickly and well.



A rare siting. The Carmela cat in her natural habitat. Her bro Paulie is way overexposed because he's always calling the paps, saying wink, wink, I'm going to be drinking out of the water garden around noon, that sort of thing. My little angel Mela is terribly shy and doesn't normally like to be plogged about.

I might be the only Oaklander hoarding this much straw, but I'm totally okay with that. Obtaining it is a bitch and using it is such a pleasure, so this six-month supply soothes me greatly. And anyway, I love to fetishize straw.

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