Oh, How The Tides Turn...

And Uncle Sammy all not for it today...


But... the tide will turn again, will flow again. Someday soon, I hope.

Slainte, folks!

Cygnus

Sometimes, They're All We Are

Reflections...

Whether that be of impressions we've made

Or of self

Or Sun through metal

on metal under water

Sometimes, it's only of what loads we can bear...

Reflections... I mean, just to be able to cast a shadow on sunny days-- ain't that reflection enough?.

Slainte, folks.

Cygnus

Pluto Discovered...

On This Day [In History]

On my desktop, says it was today's date; the discovery credited to Clyde TombaughWikipedia says naught about the day it were discovered. Does seem to like the debate about whether it's a planet or Not...

And, synchronous-- or synergyous, if you prefer, The Farmer's Almanac says it's a bad day to plant seedlings, flowering plants-- almost anything...

Gotta love the Heavens' sense of humor..
Pluto, [one of] the God[s]of the Underworld, sometimes of destruction. And we sha nae plant seeds...


I love this life, this Witchery.



Slainte, Folks.

Cygnus

Blaine Stupid

Why they ain't done THIS DAY IN HISTORY for 420 yet...

Slainte, folks.

Cygnus

Because Four Seasons Are New To Me

I lived most of my adult life in Texas, where we had, essentially, two seasons: Ca va, and hotter-than-hades.

When I started looking for property upon which to pursue my gardening/self-sustainability dreams, I looked a bit farther north, because I wanted not only the experience of Four Seasons, but somewhere that would support cold-needing orchard, berry, and brassica plants.

I'm not in Missouri, where 2.2 acres near the Mark Twain Natn'l Forest await me and my treehouse [hey, it's MY fantasy, right?!], but...

I'm glad to be currently somewhere that shows the beauty of the Cycle...

Slainte, folks... Cygnus

A Song About Oppression-- And Freedom

[I posted this on both blogs tonight, because I feel it's worth it. Thanks, readers of both, for understanding. C.]

With what I just read over at MAYBERRY's blog, this video came to mind.

Let's not let this become an Orwellian world, folks. I mean, any more so than we already have...



Slainte, folks.

Cygnus

Uppdate: Jackson = 'Flash'

I was on my merry way down the rue today, and lowen b. hauld [IT'S A MIRACLE!!! I CAN SEE!!] who do I spot walking, against traffic-- on leash, human in tow-- but our newest buddy: Hungry Jack!!!

Well, of course I had to stop the van, roll down the window, and say "Hello, Buddy!!!"

The human looked @ me as if I were in another world... and I was: Jackson was safe!

He gives my hand a kiss...

I asked her-- the human-- his name, explaining mine of him.

"Flash", she answered.

We conversed for a few. I dunna know, nor could repeat, the exact words exchanged. I just drove away, fists pumping to the heavens, thankful that Flash was safe and well-cared for.

Seems the morn he showed up @ my stairs, he'd been to the vet for some shots. His link to the chain run was... not so securedly snappy, shall we say! Ha! The walking fleamale whined of his disappearance upon Alpha-House's return. Alpha looked out back... and there Flash lay, cool day's trek under collar...

I canna tell you the joy, folks... for an hour or more of my drive I was near [HA! near, my arse, Swanboi!!! You was a-cryin' again!!!] tears, just thankful the puppy had found home-- found HIS home-- and had happily returned...

Je comprends, folks; je comprends.

May you all have, on the other end, someone who cares...

Slainte, folks!!!

Cygnus

Meet Jackson

A.K.A 'Hungry Jack'
I went outside late morning as per routine to feed the feral cats. This buddy ambled, slowly and cowingly, up from the end of the driveway. He stood at the base of the porch stairs looking up...
I walked him back to the end of the driveway, boding him go on, looking for someone he might have free-leashed himself from-- as he had a collar, and I'd not seen him around before, I figured he was one of the neighborhood's mutts loosed himself on a walk. Alas, no one in sight...

He followed me back to the porch.

I established the porch as off-limits-- front stairs and, later in the day, the back.

After getting Tigerbaby and L'il Bit momentarily sated, I watched out the bay windows to make sure he wasn't encroaching.

I'm not sure when I made the mistake-- it mighta been that first walk to the edge of the property. It mighta been moments later... alls I remember is, I had chickenfat treats for the pussies, and a buttered biscuit I knew they would nae eat (save for licking the butter off! ha!).
The buttered biscuit...

Back to the end of the driveway-- you're not eating/being fed on this side of my property line.

Back inside, I was discussing the errant pooch with our house guest. Jack looked healthy enough at first glance-- collar, no mange, freindly if somewhat timid..

Then the nasty "h" word were brought up...

Sure enough, next out I paid closer eye.

DAMN.

Still, I canna afford to... I do na have anything that might...

This was a trip out back, where I keep a second bowl of Friskies for... well, just for. There are woods out back, and cats that... well... the bowl was there before I was. So, it gets tended. Anyhow, back stairs being established as no-no, and no-no foods being proffered...

I came inside. And a welling of tears shot up from my core...

EVERYBODY EATS, remember? And Hungry Jack was that-- was hungry. I couldn't not... I had to find something...

I have a large bag of cat food, so... he was hungry enough to eat several bites, but it's obviously not so palatable. [I say so, because he was hungry. Not starved, or it would not have mattered so much.]

I know I'm not supposed to give chicken bones to canines-- supposedly the shards can mess with digestive tracts.

Fuggedaboudit. He needed calories, this hungry Jack cum Jackson.

He got them.
An hour or so later, he got some mas pan-- more bread-- biscits, from our bacon/cheese biscuit break-fast. Not so much, the bird suet he seemed to sense had rendered beef fat! Ha!
An hour or so later...

No sign.

I hope he went back... somewhere. Because, really...

But... I have a feeling we ain't seen the last of each other. After all, he's a dog. A friendly ony. And I'm a dog person. And...

And, I got more biscits...

Slainte, folks...

Cygnus.

Everybody Eats

We have a running verbiage here. It was in place when I came, and I've adopted it full-heartedly: EVERYBODY EATS.

Everybody has their place, too.

Tiger Kitty is the one pictured with that silly Swan [that'd be me, folks! ha!] in my current profile photo. Obviously, I'm deigned to be allowed the favor of receiving her affection. She's the only one of the ferals I can pick up, or so much as touch.

I can almost get a petting hand on Little Bit...
Used to she'd bolt at my mere presence in the doorway, or driveway, or anywhere else within her sight. But, mayhap because of some slow comprehension of The Hand That Feeds...
No longer does she retreat. In fact, she is quite vociferous every late morn whence Swanboi ventures out with the cuppa Friskies. I did get a sneaky love-stroke at her ear a few days back, but it were not well-tolerated. I'll count meself blessed if ever I can get a gentle petting in.

There are, current count, four other known and recognised ferals, and an oddball occasional one [likely a TomDaddy, given Tigerbabys' and Rooks'* tabby stripes]-- not to mention a rare visit by Leo, one of the neighbors' yardkitty. For the most part, any opening of the front door produces, from them, cat-scatter-- no, not as smelly as it sounds! HA!

But today...

Today I got sneaky-lucky...

I'm not sure if this is Doppleganger or L'il Momma:

They're remarkably similar. Might be both, I can download these pictures and study them a bit closer. The one we call Beautiful hath much more white. Peaches is splotchy-tabby -- dark stripes-and-mottled-tan on grey.

No chance I'll ever get a paw on any of them. [Mayhap some day a picture, mais...]

Mais, I'm good with that. In return for a few cups of food a day-- pennies, if I cared to do the math-- the casa has a great gamut of rodent control. Nary a cucaracha hath e'er been spotted. Voles, mice, and any other burrowing critter aren't likely to stand much of a chance within 50 yards of the place. I suspect even small rabbits, what might likes nibble on immature lettuce, spinach, and cabbages, are also S.O.L; at the very least, they gotta be hi-on weary! ha!

Treats go out-- part of the recycling and minimal waste: leftover mac&cheese? Unsure bologna? A pad o' butter never made it to a biscuit?
"Here, kitty kitty!!"

No sour milk down the drain-- if it ever has a chance to sour! Leftovers from a night out [Post-Borders Books Thor's Day treats compliments of Momlady..]? A weak birdling kicked outa the nest by a sibling? [Sucks to be you, my feathered cousin, mais... welcome to Ma Nature. And, better than a slow death via fireants. Seriously...] Nope; nada waste if it can tempt a palate-- and a petting! HA!

Sure, I'm not above bribing. But... I'm also a witch. I'm a tree-hugging dirt-worshipper. And damn proud to be so.

And thankful I were able to garner a cool close-up or three on the day...

Slainte, folks. You ever need a bite to eat, or a bed, well... if we got it, you know the adage now. We'd be honored, too...

Cygnus

*Rook Rook's tabby stripes, visible underneath the black coat [in the right light] was, at one time, one of the ferals-- a sister to Tiger and L'il Bit. She was rescued by Kyddryn when a wolfworm was discovered festering in her gullet. I'm pretty much responsible for her now being trapped behind the glass
-- a tough life, oui?!!-- and undoubtedly responsible for her name. But, that's fodder for another blog! HA!

Soft Sound For Imbolc

Hope you have a peaceful Ewe's Milk Day.



Slainte, Folks...

Cygnus