For your viewing pleasure, a few pictures of the chicks as they were hatching out this afternoon. Because it can take up to 24 hours between the first and last egg, and because there are still several eggs left that have yet to crack open, I'll be leaving the contest open until this evening. Tomorrow's post will give you the total count.

A new chick emerges from it's egg while it's sibling looks on.

It takes several hours for a newborn chick to go from slimey to fluffy.

One of the new black chicks

If you've ever wondered how newborn chicks can be shipped at a day old, spending hours in a box without food or water, it's because they have consumed the yolk of the egg prior to hatching. They don't need food for the first 24 hours. Too bad our own babies aren't like that, eh? Can you imagine getting a nice, long nap after you've struggled with labor for hours and hours, with no midnight or 2 am feeding to interupt you? Some days I think perhaps chickens are a little brighter than we give them credit for.

If you take a look at the middle picture, you'll see the egg on the bottom right has a crack in it. Again, another small sign that perhaps chickens are superior to humans. Not only does the mother hen not have to feed her young 'uns that first 24 hours, but she never had to go through labor! These little chicks have spent hours pecking away at their shells in an effort to come into this world. And their mother is happily setting in a nest of clean hay without a single contraction.

Before the eggs begin to hatch, you can hear the chicks peeping. By the time City Boy came home from work yesterday, they were going pretty good! When I got up this morning, there was one wet black chick. The last chick to hatch was a few hours ago. It's not looking promising for a 100% hatch rate, as we're not hearing peeping from any of the remaining eggs. But you can never tell.

Here's the thing I find interesting about this hatch; all of the eggs were blue. They all were layed by blue (black) hens. We've got three roosters; two of which are blue. So how many blue chicks have we got? Only half of what has hatched! Since I'm clueless on sexing chickens, I'll just have to wait for them to get a bit older before I can tell which ones are hens. I'll be keeping the blue hens to add to the flock and selling the lighter colored ones at the farmer's market. I know there were a couple of you interested in getting some chicks; there just aren't enough of them to keep themselves warm during shipping with this hatch. Perhaps a bit later, when the weather perks up a bit?

Now, Darling got some short videos, but will have to wait until tomorrow, along with the final head count!

River Glen hatchlings!

Little peeping fluffies have begun to invade the incubator. We started with 20 blue eggs. How many do you think will hatch? Leave your guess and may you'll win...

Wild Horses and Eggs

The eggs are due to hatch this weekend. However, I'm hearing no peeping sounds coming from them, which doesn't give me much hope. Incubation is 21 days, but they can hatch a day early or late. If there's nothing by the end of Sunday, then I'm going to have to throw them out. Disappointing, eh?

Pinto trotting into Sunset

Geek Boy typed my name into Google recently, then laughed because I didn't come up as the number one result. Evidentally, his name is number one. I'm something like two or three. City Boy doesn't show up at all. He says that's because he doesn't prostitute himself like I do. Yeah...okay. He can call it prostitution, I call it marketing.

It's just six weeks until the Wild Horse and Burro adoption event in Monroe, WA. For some reason I felt compelled to offer my services in raising funds to bring Lesley Neuman up for the gentling demos. I'm not sure exactly why I did this. I love Lesley, and the BLM didn't have funds set aside for demos. When people see Lesley work the horses, it gives them hope and lets them see that it doesn't take a bunch of gimmicks to get the horse to work for you. I've watched her work at three different adoption events with at least half a dozen horses. They start out snorty and wild, but within an hour nearly all of them are following her around like a puppy.

And I suppose that's why I said I'd do it. Because I know how terrific these horses are, if just given the opportunity to trust. So many people are afraid of them; they've heard some horror story or another and have a preconceived idea about wild horses. But you know what? Anyone can get hurt on any horse. And when people see Lesley working with these wild animals, and see how much she progresses in an hour or two, it gives them hope.

Of course, I live two counties away from the event, so I'm running into a wall when it comes to finding businesses to contribute. They look at it like advertising, and since they're not likely to build clientelle from such a distance, they turn me down.

So today I put on my thinking cap, played a bit more on Photoshop and with Cafe Press, and I came up with a page full of fun products that will help raise much needed funds. Mugs, notecards, magnets...even a wall clock! All under $15. Of course, there are t-shirts and sweatshirts as well, including Carpenter Creek products and the crazy Psycho Roo to browse through.

It'll take ten items sold (well, providing it's not just stickers or buttons) to pay for a gentling demo. While there are three demos, if I can round up the funds for just one, I'll be one happy little wild horse lover! I'll be working on a button this weekend that will link directly to the fundraising page. If you'd like to help out and post the button on your blog or website, I'd sure be thrilled! Just let me know.

Tile Box with Grulla Mustang

Now...was that prostitution?

Have a terrific day, and don't forget to check back to see if we've gotten any hatchlings!

Bale of hay to feed sheep: $8

Hiring someone to shear wool: $6 per sheep

Look on ram's face when lambs think they can get milk out of his 'udder'?

Yup. 'Udderly' priceless!

Say what? Hey...stop that!

I was picking up Darling from school the other day, and because I was early and had nothing better to do, I climbed from the cab and began picking up the loose change that had fallen onto and beneath the mat under my feet. And you know what I found? The gold cap from my tooth.

A few years back I had a dentist who did a root canal and then a gold overlay on one of my molars. They offered silver or gold, but convinced me that the price of the gold would be well worth it, as it would hold up and not need replacing.

I guess they didn't bank on my eating caramel. I love caramel, don't you? Smothered in chocolate...mmmm... And one day I was eating such a delicious piece, when I felt this little suction from the back of my mouth. And then, my caramel became somewhat difficult to chew... I spit it out to find a gold tooth!

So much for gold lasting.

I wonder how much the gold is worth? Can you sell a gold tooth? I wonder if I were to bring it into one of those places that deals with coins and precious metals, if they'd think I stole it out of a dead person's mouth?

I wonder if ebay would let me sell it there? I could probably make up some really cool story, don't you think? Perhaps a fight between a couple of ruffians over a woman...one of them dies; it's her true love, and the only thing she kept of him was the gold tooth, which she wore as a necklace until her dying day...

Okay, help me out with this story. I need something clever if I'm going to make enough money to by a new pair of boots. I need something that rivals the old Ghost in a Jar... Come on, y'all. Inspire me!

Tell Me it Ain't So!

Two Hearts are Better Than One

Congratulations, Mikki Jo! Your re-thought caption is just what I was looking for! Pop me an email with your addy, and I'll get the note cards right out to you.

And for the rest of you, your names will be entered into the drawing, along with all other Winsday caption entries, for the calendar! Remember, each Wednesday is Winsday!

I love these boots! (Haven't I said that before?)

I’m a self confessed boot tramp. I’ve admitted as much here. I love boots. My favorites by far are my Ariat boots. So comfy, so practical. I posted their pic in the boot tramp post. Darling took their picture just the other day when we traveled on the ferry. My love for those boots rivals my affection for my family. And when the family is being disagreeable, I prefer the boots.

I choose to wear my Ariats over anything else in the closet. The only place I wouldn’t wear them would be church…but come to think of it, I’ve worn them there as well. Which is proof positive of my boot trampiness, I suppose. I mean…who but a boot tramp would wear her barn boots to church? But they’re just so comfy!

Darling and I brought the sheep down to the neighbors yesterday, and I started out with my rubber boots. You know, the pair I discovered the hole in while taking that video of the creek for you? Well, walking in them wasn’t easy. My socks kept sliding down to my toes during the walk, so after our first trip I decided I’d change into my Ariats. Why I hadn’t selected them in the first place, I don’t know. I guess I preferred the thought of a wet foot to wearing my comfy leather boots through the long wet grass.

So home we came, and while Darling slipped into the house to grab a warmer sweatshirt, I snatched my boots from the shelf.

Or…what was left of my boots…

I couldn’t believe it. My heart sank down to the deepest depths of the earth’s core. One of my boots was only half a boot! The top half was gone…not there…where was it??? Which is when I noticed Tait standing there, looking quite full and satisfied with her recent kill. Tait ate my Ariat boot!

What's left of my beloved...I'm in mouring!

City Boy has long wanted Tait gone. She’s eaten countless headphones, speakers, and an array of computer parts. Hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars worth of his electronic goodies, videos and whatever else she’s been able to get her little mouth around. Or not so little mouth. No amount of toys has pacified this dog. She doesn’t care if you offer her ropes or pigs ears or peanut butter stuffed kong toys. No, she only wants to chew up things of great value. And now? Now she’s eaten my boot! And City Boy is laughing.

How could this sweet face be hiding so much evil?

To make matters worse? Tait just tossed up something out of the depths of her tummy. Something that looks like strips of leather from an Ariat boot…and I’m wondering…do I clean them off and try to stitch my boots back together again?

Winsday!

Today is Winsday, and I'm looking for a caption for this photo!

Now, here are the details. Yes, details! Darling and I are planning on putting together a Wild Horse calendar. We'll also be making note cards with the photos. If you're selected as a winner of the caption contest, you'll get a free set of note cards. And, all those who leave a caption suggestion will be put into a drawing for a free 2008 calendar later this year!

So get your thinking caps on and leave your suggestion. Remember, you don't need to win the weekly caption contest to win the calendar. Good luck!

A Racoon's Tale...er...Tail?

Okay, here we are, halfway through the day and City Boy is reading...and correcting!...my story. He wants everyone to know it was NOT a shot gun, that no one misses with a shot gun, and that he was using a .22 pistol.

So there you have it. NOT a shot gun. A pistol. Either way, there were holes blasted through my chicken house.

Are you happy now, City Boy? (Sorry, subscribers...you're getting this twice! But at leat you'll know it wasn't a shot gun, lest you thought any less of City Boy for missing with one...)

A friend of mine emailed the other day to ask if she could have some turkey eggs added to the incubator. She'd had a few turkey's disappear overnight, becoming a racoon's late night snack. One of those who was nabbed was a hen who'd been setting (setting is country talk for sitting on some eggs...) I wasn't really sure how well they'd fit, but they into the incubator they went. They're kinda cool looking, aren't they?

Some years back we'd been losing chickens around here. Loosing, as in I'd get up in the morning and find a half eaten one inside the chicken yard. Trying to find out what was getting in, and how, proved difficult. There was netting over the top, and no holes in the wire. One small area showed where perhaps something small could have been going underneath, but it seemed doubtful.

We set up the old baby monitor and for a few nights we heard nothing. Then one night we heard the most horrific sounds! I don't even know how to describe them...Rocket was still outside, and he's a non-barking dog. I mean, not his breed, but he just never barks. And this wasn't barking, anyway. It was guttural, growling, and primitive sounding. A sound that would raise the hair on the back of your neck, and send you scurrying for the house if you'd heard it while standing outside. Heck, the hair on the back of my neck was standing from inside! My first thought was that Rocket was being eaten alive.

Turns out the sounds were coming from Rocket after all. Not knowing how to bark, he did the best he could, which certainly had caught our attention. City Boy had trotted out to the chicken coop, only to return at a dead run, grabbed his shot gun and ran back outside.

What happened next will no doubt be a story told around the valley for years to come. We had new neighbors behind us; they'd just moved into our peaceful little neighborhood the week before. It was now just after 10 pm and all the lights over there were out. But they were on before City Boy was done.

Inside the pen was a raccoon. When it saw City Boy come running, it tried frantically to climb the fence, but soon realized it wouldn't make it out. He then scurried back towards the chicken house. City Boy, still on the run, aimed and missed. And missed again. And again. Shots rang out, lights went on.

The raccoon realized it had no where to run inside the house, and the bullets were flying right through the wall anyway, so it may as well take it's chances outside. Out it came, running for all it was worth and scrambling up the fencing. No doubt if it hadn't had to lift the netting off the top, it would have made it. As it was, City Boy managed to finally hit the little masked bandit.

I told City Boy to save the raccoon. I asked him to whack off it's tail in the morning so I could make my dad a coon skin cap. But when he went out in the morning, he found the raccoon but no tail! He came in, wondering if I'd already done it. Who, me? You're joking, right? Turns out we had a raccoon tale, but no tail.

We do, however, have a souvenier of sorts. There are three bullet holes in the wall of the chicken coop.

Banana you glad I didn't say Orange again?

Darling: Knock, knock.

Me: Who's there?

Darling: Orange.

Me: Orange who?

Darling: Knock, knock.

Me: Who's there?

Darling: Orange.

Me: Orange who? (sigh...)

Darling: Knock, knock.

Me: No, I don't want to play this any more.

Darling: MOM! Knock, knock!

Me: Who's there??

Darling: Banana

Me: Banana who?

Darling: Banana you glad I didn't say Orange again?

This is Darling's best joke. And her favorite. I know, it doesn’t make any sense, and she's doing it backwards. That, she tells me, is the point and what makes it funny. What can I say? I fail to see the humor.

This morning Darling and I hit the ground running, leaving the house at 6 am so that we could drive to the town of Silverdale and pick up some rubber mats for the horse stalls. City Boy had found them for sale on Craig's List, and they were about 25% the price you'd pay new, so it was worth the long drive and ferry ride to get there.

However, I'm not so sure it was worth suffering through Darling's knock knock joke. Again. And again. And again. So, to keep her otherwise occupied, I handed her my camera.

Darling behind the lens. And in the rearview mirror.

Darling was born with a genetic disorder. It affects half of the family, really. It's camera-itis. My grandmother has it. For years she carried the latest model of Polaroid camera with her to all the family functions. It was such fun to see those instant pictures! My mother and uncle are long time sufferers. My uncle's case is so severe that he's opened up a professional studio. For a while it appeared I'd escaped this malady, but I’m really just a late bloomer. And now Darling has it. She has her own camera, but if I even begin to loosen the grip I’ve got on mine, she snatches it away and begins snapping shots of anything that passes in front of her lens. All I can say is “Thank God for digital!”

To further amuse the child, I offered to let her select the photos that would be used on this post. She was delighted. I told her, however, that there was one condition. She agreed to my trade.

Darling took pictures of everything. Her favorite subject is herself. That amused her while we were waiting in line for the ferry.

Darling's feet. Darling has Converse shoes. Darling loves shoes!

Then she took photos of the scenery as we were crossing Puget Sound.

View from the ferry across Puget Sound.

Big Blue Boat.

And she danced. She danced the Thriller dance. In public.

You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it

You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes,
You're paralyzed

That was fun. Let's do something else now.

Then, I became the target. She took pictures of my feet. She took pictures of me trying to nap. She took pictures of me pretending to nap, thinking I didn’t know she was taking pictures. And I was beginning to miss the knock knock jokes! However, the thought of the trade off was too good, so I played like a good sport.

Aren't my feet cute? Ariat boots; you just can't beat them!

Yes, Darling, I can see you. That's why my tongue is hanging out!

Yes, I always sleep with this expression on my face.
It's what keeps City Boy so enchanted!

Just keep telling yourself...remember the trade off...remember the trade off!

On our way home, we stopped at Uncle Warthog and Aunt Alice’s home. Uncle Warthog had some family history to share with us. He challenged us to find anyone who had a relative here in WA State before we did, as it appeared that Pierre Chartier showed up back in the 1820’s. That was a blinking long time ago! Long before the Oregon Trail. He’s been working for years on the family history, and if you’re into genealogy like Darling and I, it’s fascinating!

Oh, and Darling’s and my little trade off? Here it is.

A Day at the Sheep Spa

Spa Day? What's that?

It was a day at the spa for my sheepies today. Time for a little extra attention. Time for a little pampering; a little 'ewe' time. Time to get a pedicure and a hair cut. My sheepies just love spa day!

Not.

My sheepies do not like spa day. Why? Well, first you get drug from your new pasture, which your people only just put you in last night. Who wants to leave lush, green grass, only to be drug on a half mile walk back to your home, which has no grass? Certainly not my sheepies.

We like it here in the fresh green grass!

Nor did my sheepies apprciate my luring them with a full bucket of grain into the back of a pick up truck, only to have me take the grain away instead of leaving them with the whole bucket. This, they felt, was unfair and not part of the loading bargain.

No promises of pampering and good looks could convince them that this was to be a pleasant journey. They dug their cloven hooves into City Boy's green grass, locking their legs and pulled back against their halters. Pokey decided to take the possum approach in his struggle, collapsing to the ground as though I'd killed him. Quest decided on the bouncing bunny approach, suddenly developing springs where her legs once were.

But in just over half an hour, I had them loaded. Three down, three to go!

A board is set down to help keep the wool clean. Carrot looks like a German Shorthair Pointer under that wool!

Taffy get's set up on her butt.

The breast area is done first, working from under the chin and down the belly.

The wool under the belly and down the legs generally hits the trash as it's too short and dirty for use.


Licorice's ram lamb rests on Darling's lap while his mamma gets pretty.

Licorice was born black, but has begun to turn a lovely silver.

The smallest in our flock, Licorice had the largest fleece.

Shearing was being done at my neighbor's house down the road. She had five of her own to get done, and I had six. Shearing is hard, back breaking labor. I could never do it. In fact, it took me two days to shear Licorice one year. Marcia had all eleven of these sheep done in under two hours!

Pokey sports his new do!

Despite the nice, new hair cuts and pedicures, I think we're all happy that Sheep Spa Day only comes once a year!

The Pretty Princess Chair

Darling had wanted one so badly! Those mushroom chairs, that is. It was Christmas, and the chair was one of those top of the list items. And trust me, those lists are long, so being in the top ten makes it pretty special. When she opened the oddly shaped gift from her grandparents, she was thrilled beyond all belief.

The chair sat in Darling's room for a year or two, but you'd never know it. Instead, you'd think there was a four foot high pile of clothing in the corner. In reality, the clothing was only two feet, as the chair was holding it up off the ground. Eventually, City Boy got tired of this type of clothing storage and removed the blue mushroom chair.

The chair was set down in the rec room while City Boy contemplated other items he'd like to haul to the dump that day. He loaded up the trash cans from outside and gathered a few other stray items. He then came back inside for the chair, only to find it occupied. And giving him the most pitiful look was Rufus, head of Homeland Security.

Evidentally, Rufus convinced City Boy that he needed that chair more than City Boy needed to get rid of it. It must have taken quite a lot of pleading, as Darling had failed just an hour earlier. But then, there's a reason Rufus is head of Homeland Security. It's not just his bravery on the job, but his ability to communicate while here in the house.

So City Boy set up the chair to Rufus's specifications. And Rufus moved in.

Head of Homeland Security and Alice, both feeling pretty.

Rufus loves the mushroom chair. It makes him feel pretty, like a princess. Alice would like to feel pretty now and then as well, and sometimes joins Rufus in the chair. Before long, Rocket became jealous. He wanted to feel pretty, too. So when Rufus hopped out of the chair to eat, Rocket would jump in.

Rocket naps in the Princess Chair.

Thus began the battle over the Princess Chair. Who ever was in the chair was the pretty princess dog. It became a throne, and which ever dog was in it, ruled. Rocket would refuse to get down to eat. Rufus refused to go outside to go potty. Heaven forbid they're outside at the same time. They come racing for the door like a pig goes after an oreo cookie. And because Rocket is the faster of the two (and most pig-like), he usually reaches the door first and gets into the chair.

Rufus isn't chief of Homeland Security for nothing, though. He devised a plan to remove Rocket from the Princess Chair, establishing himself as ruler of the rec room. While Rocket sat in the chair, Rufus came walking over to me, sat at my feet and began chirping and humming. No, really. Rufus makes the strangest, non-doglike noises, and he wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted. What he wanted was for me to reach out and pet him, which I did. Instantly, Mr. Jealousy lept from the chair and came running over, afraid he was missing out on something.

And with that, Rufus returned to his rightful place as Pretty Princess.

Creepiness to end all Creepiness

To those of you who wanted this, I hate you. I don't do creepy things. This thing is creepy. But you wanted it, so here it is. I did it for you. Because I loved you. Note the past tense of the verb, love. Loved. I don't love you anymore. At least not today. I'm just too totally creeped out to love anyone right now.

Going up is bad enough; looking down gives me the heebie jeebies!

The ladder into Brigget's hay loft is long and narrow. It’s also old and wooden. When Brigget is home, she climbs the ladder. She's a good friend. She knows I whine and obsess over climbing up there. But since Brigget is not always home, I've found myself climbing it anyway. Not gracefully. My knuckles are white and my knees are shaking. But I do get up there. I was just beginning to relax about climbing that ladder when Brigget pointed out a crack in it, and wondered outloud when it would snap. Snap??? Great. Not only do I have to worry about falling out of the hay loft as I'm trying to climb the blasted thing, but I have to worry about the ladder snapping in two as well.

But for you...you lovers of creepiness...for you I climbed this rickety old ladder.

Barn owl is not happy that I've invaded the nesting area. Again.

The owls scooted on out their little exit door when they saw me. Although I had my camera with me, it wasn't the big lens, so pictures weren't great. We're still waiting for baby owls to hatch.

There are plenty of strange things in Brigget's barn.
Some may be considered creepy.

I walked around the loft, wondering where Brigget had left the creepy thing. I heard crunching beneath my feet. It was just layers of hay, I'm sure, but it wasn't a comforting sound when you're in the dark looking for spider filled creepiness. The hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up as my imagination covered all the possible reasons I’d hear crunching. I found plenty of owl poop and pellets. Even found a couple of discarded egg shells. After a full pass around the loft, I was beginning to think I wouldn’t find it, which quite honestly left me a bit relieved.

That’s when I spotted it, in all it's creepy glory. An icy cold shiver ran down my back. I looked for something to poke it with, and found a small stick. Carefully, I removed the lens cover from the camera, then squatted down alongside the thing. It looked like something a mud wasp would make, but it was split in half and was all smooth at the break. Had it been brown, and not full of creepiness, you’d think it may be a walnut.

Creepiness lurks...

But full of creepiness it was. And I could barely look through the lens to focus.

Are you happy now? Are you?

I hope you’re happy. I hope this is everything you dreamed of. Not only did I have to prod this thing apart so you could gaze upon the creepiness of it, but I had try to focus the camera on it, upload them to my computer, then resize them. That was just too much creepiness. But on top of that, I’ve now got dead spider creepiness on my blog! You’d better appreciate it, that’s all I have to say.

"Let's get the Heck out of here! There's another school bus on the horizon! I'm sick of this pony ride crap!"

Okay, so I'd been thinking like most of you...something romantic. But Dan just had to win. Slightly altered in the wording (but not much) because, after all Dan, my grandmother reads my blog! And whilst all of you were dreaming up names, I was busy fiddling a bit more with the photo, eliminating the fence behind them so they appear to be running free.

Couple of questions popped up yesterday. Vicki, it was taken while we were in Oregon last week. Barn Goddess, I guess that half answers your question, right? They're not mine. I wish! They're horses at the BLM corrals in Burns.

*********************

I've had several people asking about the 'simple' way to cut and paste on photo shop, so figured I'd give you a small demo here today. You may recall that Geek Boy had tried showing me, but I couldn't remember all the steps. Then I got that photo shop magazine, which layed it out quite simply.

First thing you're going to want to do is have both of your images up on the computer. For me, that's usually a landscape and a horse. If the subject that you're moving has too many other things in photo with it, or if it's just a small portion of the photo, you can crop it down like I did with the Ghost.

Both images on my screen; the Ghost was cropped because there were more horses in the photo than I need.

Now, look down at your keyboard. Hold down the ALT key and the A key at the same time. No, you don't need to keep holding it. You just needed to give your computer the command that it's okay to shift an image over.

See that lady's eye up there on the right of my screen? Just beneath her eye, on the right side of the bar, is a little arrow. No, I don't know what that little bar is called. No, I don't know how to make it appear or disappear from your computer. I told y'all I'm not knowledgeable in this stuff. Not at all. It's just there on my screen whenever I pull up Photo shop and that's all I know.

That little arrow up on the right is what you're looking for.

So, you see that little arrow? Click it. It's a drop and drag function. Once it's clicked, move your cursor over the subject you want to move. Keep you finger on the mouse, and move your subject over to the background layer and drop it there.

The Ghost photo is now on top of the landscape.

You probably won't be too keen on how it looks. You may not like the remaining background image around your subject. Easy fix. Back over on that side bar is an eraser. Once you click the eraser, the task bar up above your images will change, and you'll be able to do things like select your brush size. This is important because you'll want a big brush for large areas, but it won't work so well when you're trying to get into tight spots. Select your brush size and begin erasing the background from your subject.

Click on the brush to get a drop down menu which allows you to select a different size.

I selected a large brush to begin removing the fencing behind the Ghost.

Once the background is erased, you can move you subject to wherever you want on your background by going back to that little arrow that drags the image around.

The Ghost now trots on water.

There. Now you know all I know. Actually, you probably know more. Oh...the reflection? Um...well...maybe later. Time to get Darling up for school.

Oh...Tomorrow? Creepy. Yes, you asked for it, and you'll be getting it. I'm headed to Briggets to photograph the creepy spider thing. I hate all of you! (Ha! Just kidding...I only hate those who requested the creepy thing!)