The neighbor's babies

We had a blast playing with a few of the many new babies over at the neighbor's ranch.

My baby called them kitties, and then she cried.


It wasn't too long, though, and she was petting three-day-old Lucky...


with her sock-gloved hands while she laughed and laughed.

Now if that doesn't look like a kitty, I sure don't know what does.

Lucky's mama had eaten a few things she shouldn't have, yummy things like wire. She wasn't feeling too well. He was born by cesarean.

I wish I could have seen that.

My boys reluctantly helped bottle feed.

Just look at the milk dripping down on top of the cat. (The little bean was right, there were kitties around.)


The cats lap up what they can of the milk that dribbles down, while more blops onto their heads. After the milkfest, the cats clean each other off.

Maybe in a year or two (if my barn hasn't fallen over) we'll be ready to buy a bottle calf, like one of these, and raise it.

Do you eat beef? We do. Guess what, it really doesn't come on a plastic tray wrapped up neatly in clingwrap.

Although that is convenient.

It actually comes like this.



As Americans, we are horribly disconnected from our food supply. It is all too easy to open a package from the grocery store, and without thought consume whatever tasty meals we make of it.

I think that we all ought to slow down once in awhile, take a moment or two and think about where our food comes from.

When looking these babies in the eye, letting them try to suck milk out of your thumb, and feeling the soft swirl of fur on their foreheads, you realize just how precious they are.

That is not a gift to take lightly.