The Lamb Must Die!

Spirit of the West

First, a big congratulations to Country Goalie for winning yesterday's caption contest! I'll be needing your contact information, dear...my email link is over there to the right.

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A while back, City Boy bought me a lamb. It was white. It was cute. Downright adorable. And so sweet of him to think of me.

However, the lamb must die.

The news of Darling's and my plan to consume the lamb upset City Boy. But Darling and I were hungry; it couldn't be helped. I mean, just how long did he expect me to keep it, anyway? Besides, it was Darling's idea. She's long been a lover of lamb, and the thought of this one just hanging around, doing nothing productive, was driving her crazy. And not just her. I must admit to having a bit of a craving myself.

Why the lamb, you ask? Why not some stranger from the supermarket, who's face we'd not grown accustomed to?

Because we were having a chocolate craving, that's why!

Pesky little lamb has been taking up space and not pulling his weight far too long. Time to die, little lamb!

Darling quickly removes the packaging

The little lamb is clueless as to his future

Darling points out that he is defective, therefore should not be kept around. Look! The backs of his ears are pink!

I think he suspects something; he's claiming to be a Japanese poodle...

It doesn't take Darling long to suck off the feet and seal his fate

Mmmm....lamb is luscious!

Look, Mom, a puppet!

How are we going to split the head evenly?

Ah...that works!

And that was the end of the lamb. City Boy is still in mourning. He misses seeing the lamb looking at him in the morning, I guess. But Darling and I are not feeling the least bit guilty. Nope! Not in the least.

Finger Lickin' Good!

There's my little counter. Do you see it? It's right there, just a bit to the right, above the boot. See it? That tells how many times my pages have been looked at here. I've been watching that little counter with a great deal of interest, wondering how to make it move faster. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that it's that high...I'd just like more. Hence, I'm planning on having a party when it hits 5000. Now, don't be asking the details because I'm not really sure of them yet. Let's just say we'll have some fun the day we hit 5000. So keep an eye on it; you won't want to miss the party!

Finger Lickin' Good!

Now, on to more frightening things in life; I decided to attempt a dessert from scratch tonight! Okay, okay...I had Darling attempt it and I just took photos. Our goal? To make a pan of s'mores.

Preheat your oven to 375, then add the following ingredients to a bowl:

2 cups flour

1 cup sugar

1 cup graham crackers (smashed to smitherenes)

1 tsp baking soda

Darling smashes the graham crackers inside a sandwich bag.

Mix these dry ingredients together. Now add 1 cup melted butter and stir until you've got a soft dough.

Push your dough down into the bottom of a pan; ours was 9x9. Bake for 18 minutes, or until your 'cookie' is done.

Immediately add 3 cups of chocolate chips.

I think we added a bit too many...a layer is really enough (we didn't measure, just layered them on good and thick!) The heat from your cookie will begin to melt the chips immediately.

Now take some marshmallows and create your top layer. We used the big ones, but hey, you could use small ones. Or colored ones; that would be fun for Easter. Turn your oven to broil and put your pan of s'mores back into for approx. 20 seconds. The top of the pan should be 4-5 inches beneath the heat.

Warning: Marshmallows toast quickly. If you leave them in too long, they will burn, just like when you roast them over the fire. Should this happen, and smoke begins filling your kitchen, PANIC!!! Run around like a maniac and scream "Where's the fire extinguisher!" (Note to self: Keep fire extinguisher in a handy place for baking and cooking...)

Just kidding! Amazingly enough, we didn't burn anything, not even the tops of the marshmallows! Allow your pan of s'mores to cool ten minutes before diving in.

Now, if I can do it, you can do it! Okay, okay...I didn't do it. But I watched, and it seemed pretty darned simple. So go make s'mores with your kids or grandkids this weekend. And if you haven't got children, well, borrow the neighbors kids. Better yet, don't, and you'll have more s'mores for yourself!

I just got these cool posters in the mail from my friend Ramona at the BLM in Oregon. Darling and I are doing a demo on adopting a wild horse at Super Saturday in a couple of weeks and these posters are to hand out. Cool, eh? (Did you know I spoke a second language? Yep, American and Canadian, eh!)

"City Boy...can we get ducklings?"

The answer was no. No ducklings. No more animals, he said. Hmph. It's not like we've got that many. Two cats. Three dogs. Seven chickens. Two horses. Six sheep. That's not too many.

Perhaps I shouldn't list how many of each we've got...that way if I decide to get a few more chickens, he won't notice...right?

I came across a blog tonight that talked about Guinea Hens. Have you ever owned a guinea? It's a pleasure everyone ought enjoy at some point. We had them years ago, back when City Boy, the little Geek Boy and I were still living in town. Town was not the best place to keep barnyard foul, so before long they were living at Hovander Park. I'd tell you the story, but I think instead you ought to read the blog post I came across. I'm thinking it's booger worthy...see what you think.

Did anyone watch the Oscars last night? I didn't watch much...did manage to catch Tom Cruise. I'm not a Cruise fan; thought it funny that he received such applause. Perhaps they were afraid he'd jump up and down on their chairs if not encouraged to stay up on stage? And talk about a politically correct Oscar night...well, I'd rather not.

Moving right along...



Six, Seven, Eight...



It's a lot easier to get ten sit ups done when you begin with number six. I'm beginning to lose hope in ever getting my inspiration jeans on. I've completely ignored them hanging in my bathroom. My middle is just as round as it's been since eating turkey at Thanksgiving...and Christmas...and all that candy last Halloween... It doesn't help that City Boy is home so much these days. Do you know that man only works 14 days a month? Yet another reason the empire he works for can be considered evil. Not that I mind having him home, but he either takes me out to dinner of feeds me huge, delicious meals here. I know...I should complain of such a thing! But my jeans don't fit, dad gum it! They just don't fit. And I hate to think I wasted that 99 cents at the thrift store! I guess I can't complain too loudly...he didn't buy me chocolate for Valentine's Day. (Please picture that little eye rolling emoticon here.)



I need an Oreo cookie...hang on, I'll be right back.



I wish we'd gotten the double stuff ones. Not that I'm eating them, of course...

Are you getting excited to learn about the contest? Want a little clue as to when it is? Tough. Not today. Just keep coming back, and coming back...and pretty soon you'll find it. The theme? Coming Clean...

Okay, then...just a peek at the prize basket! But don't tell anyone else I let you look!

I stand corrected...

Look close and you'll see a pair of barn owls in the top right corner.
No, they're not Brigget's; they're at a place called Northwest Trek.

Brigget, thank you for clearing that up for me. I had wondered how it was that owl poo was so dry, and also why there was a great deal white birdie poo near the window of your barn. But now I know. Those pellets are not poo. They come out the front of the owl. So I suppose they're owl barf, then? Gary, does that make it better, knowing they're owl barf? Can you go back to eating chicken wings again, knowing that it's owl barf, and not owl poo? I hope so, as I was up all night worried about you and your chicken. Okay, maybe not.

I'm wondering...did you all have a wonderful day yesterday? Did your loved ones give you everything you deserve? Chocolate? Flowers? Did you have a romance filled evening? Well, I didn't. City Boy didn't bring me a single thing. Not a single thing! And after I labored over that poem for him. Sniff. Okay, I'm not really sniffing and whining. I'm plotting my revenge.

But in the absence of anything sweet from City Boy, Darling and I decided we'd make something sweet for ourselves. We went to the store and looked through some magazines, finding ourselves coming home with enough ideas (and ingredients) to send us into diabetic comas.

Now, I know you probably have had your fill of all the 'this is how to make the BEST. EVER.' kinda recipes over the past few days. So I'll ease your mind a bit and let you know that nothing I cook is the best. ever. Not even remotely close. And my baking skills are sadly lacking as well. But you may enjoy this just the same.

First thing you do is grab your kid and let them know they'll get to bake a cake tonight. They'll be appreciative. Trust me.

Then you need to decide what cake you want to bake. Lemon? Okay. Grab the cake box. Carefully read the directions on the back so you know how many eggs and how much oil you'll be needing.

Lemon cake mix. Yummy!

You'll need to grab a cake pan; be careful not to drop your camera as you reach for it. You'll also want to get a bowl.

Oh...sorry. Darling says not a bowl with holes in it.

There, that's a better bowl. If you're up for the challenge, leave a few of the things from dinner out on the counter. They create a bit of clutter, but add to the color, making it seem cheerier. I wouldn't recommend this to first time cake mixers, though, as you may confuse the mustard for oil or the pickles for eggs...not a good thing.

Empty contents of cake mix package into the bowl. The bowl without the holes. Measure and add oil (below.)

Carefully crack eggs, avoiding getting egg shells in your batter mix. If you do, don't sweat it; just tell you family it's a good calcium supplement.

Doesn't Darling do good work?

Now, mix it all together. Darling tells me this is why it's important not to have holes in your bowl, or your batter mix may seep out. Okay. I'll try to remember that. But no guarantees (hey, this is getting way too complicated for me!)

Carefully pour your batter into the pan. You may need three hands for this, as the bowl full of batter is heavy. Once you've got it into the pan, you should realize you've got the wrong size pan and you need to grab the other one.

Transfer batter to second pan.

I forgot to tell you to preheat the oven. If you forgot you had to do that, this would be a good time to turn it on. Since Darling has her back turned to turn on the oven, now would be a good time to sneak a bit of the batter and lick your finger.

Once the oven has preheated, you'll want to put your cake into it. There are likely directions telling you how long to leave your cake in for. Don't bother. You'll be able to tell if you've over baked it by the smokey smell and the smoke detectors going off. I'd post pictures, but in the heat of the moment, the camera was rather forgotten in an effort to save the kitchen.

Let's just say we won't have to worry about this being The. Best. Cake.Ever!

My Friend Brigget Has a Farm

E I E I O....

Red Door...do you think this is what Liz Arden was thinking
when she named her perfume?

It's no secret that I have Farm Envy when it comes to my friend Brigget. She's got a cool old dairy barn, lovely pastures with a flock of sheep, and then there's this terrifically red door. (It's my tribute to Valentine's Day. Sorry, I don't do fancy little papercrafts.) She also has soil that I absolutely lust over. Yes, I lust after dirt. And if you were to see Brigget's dirt, you'd be lusty, too! I swear it's so nice and lofty you can just reach your arm straight down to your elbow and dig it up; no need for a tiller.

Aside from her wonderful soil, Brigget has something else. It lives in her barn; that barn who's ladder I'm not all together comfortable climbing. But climb it I did, and as previously promised, I even managed to haul my camera up with me this time so I could take some pictures of the hay mow. Or rather, what's in the hay mow.

Inside the hay mow (way up high...)

You see, Brigget has a pair of barn owls that nest there. She's got a bird house..well, owl house...up in the rafters where they raise their babies, and there's a window that they fly in and out of. As a result of raising barn owls, Brigget has a barn owl by-product; their poop. Have you ever seen barn owl poop? Well, you're about to!

The owl house inside Brigget's barn.

Owl poop is big, and it's solid. Not like that ookey, wet, white, runny stuff that falls out of birds like, say, seagull or eagles or even sparrows. No, these are called pellets, and they're bigger than anything my sheep ever produced, and really about the size as the road apples that the horses leave behind (did you know you'd be getting a lesson in poop this Valentine's Day?) They're dry and not all together repulsive; if you don't mind poop.

Poop...cool, eh?

What's cool about owl pellets is that you can break them apart and find dead things in them. Bones and such. Hair, too. In fact, I think this pellet really is just a giant hairball with bones in it. Schools buy pellets for their students to break apart and study. You, however, need not go to school to enjoy the experience! Aren't you lucky?

The owl pellet reveals the skeleton of a tiny animal. If this was a very clever website, it'd have a way for you to put that skeleton together, but we're just not that sophisticated.

Well, that about wraps it up. I've got a lot more to share on Brigget's farm, but we'll get to that in the coming days. For now, thank you for stopping in and checking out the owl poop. You can go back to your chocolate now!