Baby Bites Dust; Honey Bun Feeds Masses.

By now you know of I developed a deep affection for Baby, an obese, asthmatic & slightly drooling Watch Rooster who would bravely choke out something like half a crow around 5:30 a.m.

I raised him from a tiny chick like a good mother hen.

Then, I think I fed him to death.

He was on a diet, I promise. But, one morning, a few hours after I'd fed him a tiny treat of left over stew drippings, (which he lapped up eagerly), Larry came inside with the urgent report "Something's wrong with your rooster."

Out I fled to the back yard only to find Baby dead as a doornail. What a terrible surprise. Really, I was quite teary and devastated.

As Larry & William dug a wide berth for his grave, I lugged his nearly 20 pound limp carcass over for our burial ceremony.

There was nothing for it. The only way we could fit his girth into the grave was in the undignified Feet Up position. Poor Baby.

I prefer to think he's just being praiseful , but it's a stretch, I know.

Of course he received full honors... family prayer, home made cross and grave stones.








Honey Bun, my perfect and perfectly ladylike laying hen, was faithful to the end. Here she is standing vigil at Baby's grave site.

But more bad luck was heading our way... Several weeks after we lost Baby, Honey Bun was snatchedby nearby workers and probably turned to stew.

Alas... We do mourn.






Our Little  Human Mud Pies:  Shane  & William

We just hose 'em off and stick 'em in the tub.Yes... our drains do suffer.