The muddy muddy

We went into town Saturday.

We went out for supper, which was a really huge deal because it is such a rare thing for us. Other than the broccoli, my food was awesome. I swear that was the worst broccoli I have ever had, and broccoli is one of my favorite foods. Truly.

Little frugal me moaned and groaned about whether I should spend ten dollars on a pie.

I came home with the pie.

A whole pie.

A French Silk Pie.

I have already eaten three-quarters of it by myself. And now, honestly, the remaining quarter doesn't even tempt me at all. But I really don't want to talk about that.

I want to talk about mud.

The guy we parked next to laughed and said, "That caddy is muddier than my truck, I don't feel so bad now."

Yeah dude, you should see where we live.

We have mud.

Lots and lots of really squishy wet mud.


I realized my photos of mud were rather boring. Then the chickens arrived, and they got the party started as usual.


And this guy,


has an attitude you would not believe.

Meet King Fritz, in all his muddy, crusty dried blood glory.


After I snapped that last photo, my camera battery went dead. I stood up, and something bounced off my leg.

It was not a friendly gesture.

Guess what who it was?

Yep. It was him.

It made me sad, because it meant Fritz was now on death row, awaiting his yet undetermined execution date.

But tonight, as it turns out, all is well. Instead of an appointment with the axe, or being used as coyote bait, Fritz is at this moment riding in his chariot to his new kingdom.

There is already a Leghorn rooster there.

But the rooster drama, here, at The Old Nichols Farm? It is finished. At least for now.