Thursday, December 23, 2010

Something Most Fowl

Last Winter Dheep Dawg and I fed the geese and ducks countless bags of corn. Unforseen events caused us to stop feeding our friends in the spring.

I walked to the road edge to stare at the almost frozen lake not long ago and suddenly one duck started to make a ruckus.  Then that same duck headed up the slope, quacking all the way with others taking up the quack and following the first duck.  It only took one duck to remember.

So, we are feeding the fowls again.   They even  formed a  duck line and followed me to the mailbox and back.

One goose in particular I named "Gimp"  is still around. We always gave him a little extra.  Here are pics from this evening.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Monday, August 2, 2010

*FLASH* Bunneh Racer

FLASH-World Famous Bunneh Racer
About da Bunneh-

Full Name:  Flash Victoria SpeedBump Dale Bunnrnhart Gordon

Nick Names:   Fluffy , Freckles, Huck A-hun of Burning Fuzzy Love (my Buny Buck  Friend calls me that), Hausenpheffer, & Speedy Bunn Gonzalez      
YEARS RACING ON THE CIRCUIT: 3 years Daytona : 2 Years Indianapolis Bunny Speedway..WINNER both years : Bunny 500!  WINNER 15 times - Turtle and Hare Race---- Are you Kidding?  WINNER!

PEDIGREE  Father : Flash Gordon Wonder Bunn
                    Father:  Dale Bunnhart
                   Mother : Angela Andretti

Favorite Color:  Purple & Lime Green

Favorite Song:  "Hoppin' All Over the World"
From Classic Bunny Tunes

Favorite Food:  Carrots, Raisins, Graham Crackers, Cilantro, Parsley &Sprouts ; Fresh Mint. HEY! I couldn't  decide!

COMMENTS: I have been a racing bunn all my life.   All of my family are racers!  I strive for Bunn Excellence and  I admit I have a weakness for shiny  gleaming trophies.  May the Best Bunn Win... umm that will be me of course!  HOO!

MOTTO:  “You’re no bunny ‘till some bunny loves you”

My Owner &Trainer ; Tranier  is : Hare
erTrain I accept BUT NoBunny Owns me!
@@@ I am a free range Bunneh-Oh Yeah@@@
To schedule Personal Appearances, Book Signings, Charity Events,  Photo Ops, New Nests Dedications and Pawtographs,  Please contact my agent:
 Hare (she is extremely slow but she is loyal )

Here is a description of my last race.  I have since retired from racing .

I exist in a land called Second Life.

--Second Life In- World Race  Owners and Trainers check the racing circle.  
Hare kept offering racing tips and encouragement. 
 I finally told  her to "Stiffle it!"  I am a professional!  I KNOW my business!                                   

Everybunn was excited! 
 The golden gate was lifted and most everybunn hopped out.  
First bunn to cross the red circle was the winner!

At first, I was stunned by all the lights and noise and  was frozen in place (which is unusual for me.  I am usually a rocket!) 

Upon reflection, I think  the cause of my problem was that  I took a great interest in this  Beautiful Chocolate Mini Rex Buck  with deep brown eyes.  
He was not in the race!  I guess his owner brought him to see the excitement.  He appeared very happy and he winked at me a couple of times and I winked back as any doe of good breeding would do. 

A cheer wnet up from the crowd which bolted my attention back to the race . I quickly regained my  concentration  and  turned my gaze from tthe pawsome buck and binky-ed high  in the air.  

I would have won too but a  bunneh named Evil Eye must have put a hex or something on me.   I was frozen again and lost the race.

 I, of course, congratulated the winners because that is the sporting thing to do but I was clearly disappointed.  I didn't linger after the race.  I went to my trailer and closed the door. 

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Bunny Adventure

   Hi!  My Name is Strawberry Bunny.  I  am an Ozimals Bunneh and I live in Second Life. My friend, Hare is a Snow Leopard and she took me and  some friends on an adventure.  I thought I would share it.  In the photo above, Hare took me to a concert.  We didn't stay long.  Then we went home and got my friends.

Here we are at the Ozimals Store.  I saw lots of tasty food but Hare did not buy any. Harry is the brown bunny riding on Hare's neck.  I am the cute bunny in the middle and  
Viiney  is the bunny riding  close to Hare's tail.
 In this picture Hare is teaching us how to stalk.  I don't know what she was stalking or really what that means but the tall grass tasted like lemon.  I rather liked it.  Vinney said I should 

not sample strange food but I am my own bunny and I will do as I please.  Strawberry Bunnies are  very independent!
  This is a place called "Lost Gardens of Apollo"  We never  saw anyone named Apollo but there were some people sitting in a circle.  Hare padded by very quietly as not to disturb them.  It felt very ancient  to me here and I wanted to stay and look more but Hare said we must go home and go to bed or our stats would  get bad.  So, we went home .

Love, Strawberry

Monday, June 28, 2010

Harry, The House Rabbit , A Real Story

Enjoy a real life bunny story

The House Rabbit
By Deborah J Lindsey       

"Hey, Mom!  I got the biggest one! Look!"

I carefully unfolded the flaps of the large cardboard box my son laid on the floor and peeked inside. The "biggest one" was a tiny bit of gray, black and white fluff with perky ears, a cotton tail, big brown eyes, that easily fit in the palm of my hand. The "biggest one," the pet shop said, was a  Netherland Dwarf rabbit, one of the smaller breeds.  My husband, son and I assumed since this creature was so very small, it must be a girl bunny, so we named her, Hilda.

The "Your First Bunny" book included in the Dwarf rabbit kit offered little information regarding sexing a bunny.  We discovered that bunny sexing was somewhat of an art and in very young bunnies it's almost impossible to tell which is which.  Not many days passed, however, before we realized that Hilda was really a Harry.

Although, Harry was a gift for Silas,our son's 6th birthday, he quickly became a beloved treasure and member of our family. The familiar warnings, "He's your pet and you'll have to care for him," soon faded and he became my bunny.  None of us had any idea just how much Harry would change our lives.

Harry lived in his little cage all the time, except for a few hours after supper.  Then we would let him out to "stretch his legs." As soon as he was free, he jumped and leaped for joy, racing around the room at top speed.

Although, we put "bunny blocks" across doorways to keep his run space confined, Harry always managed to discover ways around them.  He would flash past us and head for the bedrooms every time.

"Don't let him get under the bed!" we'd scream at each other. A bunny under the bed meant at least an hour or more of capture time.  Attempts to "sweep" him out from under the bed were comical and frustrating.  If we swept him out from under one side, he would switch to the other side. Then he learned to sit just at the edge, only inches away from the broom.  Harry became a whiz at evading capture and he constantly amazed us with his adaptive skills. Silas thought the whole process was so funny, he opened the bedroom doors on purpose.  "Go, Harry, go!", he'd shout, and Harry would fly past him back under the bed and the whole capture process would begin again.

When Harry was finally secured in his little cage, he showed his displeasure by biting frantically at the bars and bumping the top of the cage with his head.  He bumped the top so often, I put clothes pins on each side to secure the top closed.  Harry would look so sad and I would feel guilty and give him a carrot.  He loved carrots and I could hear him munching them well into the night.  In the morning all that was left was a very skinny carrot about the size of the lead from a pencil.  Harry always ate his carrots this way and I always felt guilty when I put him back in his cage.

One bright afternoon, Harry was biting and bumping as usual, testing his confines for possible weak spots, and he found one. It was hard to beleive, but  he managed to wiggle through the smallest of openings in one corner of the top of his cage. He hopped into the living room, looking rather pleased with himself and stopped in front of my chair. He looked straight into my eys and "thumped.

"Thumping" is rabbit communication and Harry was quite the vocal rabbit.  He "thumped" warnings of danger, like when he was low on food or wanted attention.  He "thumped" warnings of displeasure, like when the furniture had been moved.  He, like my husband, hated it when I moved furniture.  And in this case, he "thumped" in triumph at having escaped at last from his prison.

Harry lived behind bars for two years. After his great escape, we never caged him again unless he was sick and needed special care or if we were traveling.  This is how Harry became a "House Rabbit!"

We didn't know it at the time, but Harry was a born teacher.  Who would have guessed that rabbits can use litter boxes, come running when you call their names, and beg for treats? Harry taught us that rabbits can do so much more than just stare out at you from inside a cage. Most of all, Harry taught us about life, friendship and love, the greatest of the three.

Harry was a patient and kind teacher.  His whiskered face seemed so wise and understanding as we struggled to "get it right".

"Harry! Nooooo! Not there. Your litter box is here, not there!"

Litter box training  was an adventure in trial and error. We learned that rabbits, not two-foots decide the final location of the litter box..

"Hello, hello? Are you there?"

Harry taught us about bunny- proofing.   Electrical cords and phone lines are bunny candy!  I found that out first hand while I chatted away on the phone long distance. Perhaps, I ignored Harry too long or maybe as my husband said later, Harry understood the meaning of "keep it short", either way Harry chewed the phone cord neatly into to, cutting me off in mid-sentence. I learned to Bunny proof early and often!

Harry was indeed a part of our family. He  participated in everything he could that was happening around him.. Once I was piecing a quit and had the squares laid out of the living room floor. Harry hopped right the middle and started scrunching up the squares with his front paws. Apparently, he didn't care for my arrangement and decided to create one of his own.

On this same quilt project I was sewing black and white lace over some of the squares, so I had lots of lace remnants. Harry loved the lace best of all. He would scrunch it up with is front paws over and over again until he grew tired. Then he'd plop down, stretch out and relax on his beloved lace. One morning I draped a piece of black lace over the entrance to one of his bunny box hideouts. I knew as soon as Harry saw it, he'd scrunch it up and pull it inside his hide out. Harry slept in the next morning and a maintenance man coming to unstop my kitchen sink was dumbfounded and curious.  He never inquired about the strange lace-draped box, but he did complete his task in record time.

Harry was with us almost eleven years and has been at The Rainbow Bridge just as long  but he is never far from my heart. 

                    C Copyright  June, 2010 by Deborah J Lindsey

Friday, March 19, 2010

I was't payin g Attention

I wasn't paying attention and February flew past and now March is in the downhill slide.  Happens though.
Three eye surgeries might do that to a person. So, like the cartoon-Nothing is new and Plenty is new!

I just read again my Valentine to Mark Twain.  It is one of my favorite pieces- one of the very  few I actually saved when I destroyed this blog- and if a friend or someone close to me had written this piece and it were available to me and I knew about it, I would run to view it.  In fact, I wold read it several times and I would read it often but that is just me. 

On Writing

A writer has to be open minded, calloused and stubborn- if you heart tells you so.   Praise and criticisms are the learning growing  tools writers need if they are ever able to move beyond themselves and view the work as that-a work. And if you find me guilty of wearing some story on my sleeve (It could happen but I am sure I am well past this) feel free to knock it off, stomp on it, beat it, whip it, hang it out to dry-whatever you like but having no comment is the cruelest to bear.  No  Comment is a black hole-it leaves you on the edge peering down into the black vastness of it all.  Jump or no jump?

*  I am open minded.  I am more than willing to entertain each  and every comment
*  I  am calloused.  unflattering comments are just tools as are the flattering ones.  All are there to be
    examined and given their due.
*  I am stubborn.  Having the Taurus nature makes me more so I think but after I have scrutinized and
     examined all comments -every  piece, every  paragraph, every sentence or even my particular word choice and it still speaks good to me, then it stays.

If you believe in your writing, be  open minded, calloused and stubborn.

Be willing to listen
Be willing to examine and weigh each praise and criticism with equal value and act accordingly.
                Decide if the praise is really warranted,  Is it really good? what makes it so?
                 Decide if the criticism has  merit.  If it does, embrace it.  Fix what you can or scrap it.
Be willing to keep what speaks to you heart.  If it feels totally  right and correct to  you, hold onto it.
               What one readers hates,  another one will love.  But be sure,

I didn't plan on writing on writing today.  I was only going to post quickly because it has been a while and say I have pneumonia and I am feeling better and that  D and I are going  on a trip to Las Vegas on Tuesday and that I have a rabbit sitter I am comfortable with and that the sun is shinning  and it is warm  and I expect any moment to hear a knock from  maintenance coming again to repair the vertical blinds (I TRULY HATE THOSE) and the disposal. That's what I was going to write about but then  I read My Valentine to Mark Twain and I was amazed that these words came from me and I realized that Mark Twain smoked cigars instead of a pipe and that this editor has  no spell checker.

And I thought about all the people I have shared my Second Life book with and the few  who commented.  I believe the fault lies with me.  I am too eager to share.  When I have something  I think is good,  I am too quick to share.  So, (I have used that word way too much but SO what)  many very nice people have accepted yet another item into inventory that must be dealt  with at some point because they are nice people.

SO, "Life at Peacock Point, The New Neighbors" available in Second Life at my shop will be for sale.
and the voice I am hearing in my head now (HOW does this happen???)is that wonderful sweet voice of that young boy in "Oliver" singing  "Who will buy?"    And now, I'll have to watch the movie again or at the very least, look up the song lyrics.  Maybe go into I-tunes and add it to my I-Pod or look it up on youtube.. and so it goes...

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Be My Valentine?

                                                                 Be My Valentine?

Dearest Mark,

You don't know me but I know you.
You have never heard my voice or looked upon my face but you and I have shared so many things. We've stood quietly together and watched the sun die, spitting and sputtering into the churning waves of some wild river.

We've white-washed fences, explored bat-infested caves, searched for pirate gold and listened in awe to our own eulogies. And today we share passage on the same steamer boat.

Perhaps, you noticed me there in the moonlight that star spangled evening as I gazed with dreamer's eyes into the distance?

Perhaps, we exchanged pleasantries that August morn while the mist still whispered on the water.
If I close my eyes, I can still smell the rich heady smoke from your pipe and feel the prickly heat begin to run creases down my back.

I can recall the warmth of your fingers touching mine as we grasped for the same space on the handrail to steady ourselves against the bucking of the boat.

We prove quite the striking couple you and I
Me in my traveling gown, all prim and proper, my long hair neatly pinned beneath my hat and you in your white suit, string tie and broad fedora pulled low shadowing the early rays.

"Mark Twain!" A deck hand shouts.

"Mark Twain!"

You echo the words softly in your slow southern style and I watch the laugh lines tug at the corners of your mouth. Your smile glows and your eyes catch the fire and I realize you are already away on another adventure. I move closer to you and breathe open-mouthed, sucking in the whole hot sweet taste of another tale in the making.

"Take me with you," I whisper.

But my words are vapor. Drowned and silenced, lost somewhere in the pounding "wa-whoosh, wa-whoosh" of the giant paddle wheel.

Without your notice, I slip my valentine into your suit coat pocket

Perhaps, you will find it a happy surprise some dark and stormy night when words are obscure and muddied like the waters of the mighty Mississippi.

Think of me then as you read my heart thoughts etched upon red paper and lace.
My Dearest Mark, I send you this greeting on the sweetest of days.

Valentine's Day
February 14

I ask you this question
I've placed it in rhyme
I'm your Huckleberry
Will You Be Mine?

Faithful Forever
Your Valentine

Love, Hare
C Copyright by DJL 2005. 2008

Posted by Hare at 3:46 AM

Second Life Ozimals!

Very Realistic Bunnies !

 I had three of these delightful bunnies.  Brave Heart is a chocolate Mini Rex Buck.  Murron is a Holland  Spot Doe and Boey.  Bogey is a red Mini Rex Buck.  


One morning I logged on to discover that Murron  
         had built a nest box.  


The birth process took one hour .
Bogey and Murron's union produced a cutie red buck.
                                                               I named him Burron.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Wakes, Dead Ringers & Chewing the Fat

A New Year

 Christmas, 2010
                           was very strange and to be truthful, I am glad to be done with it.Dawg had surgery December 16th.  Surgery was scheduled for that morning and that morning brought a level 2 snow emergency. The surgery itself went well.  Out patient is was...go with the awful pain after the nerve block wears  off.  Rotator cuff surgery is a hard one.

           ...God is a very present help in time of trouble...

I wish I cold still see well enough to drive.
Thank  you kind neighbors for the ride home!

Christmas Eve brought astounding news that I am content to just let lie. Again giving credit where credit is due.  The Lord always does things so perfect.

Theser are INTERESTING.....

They used to use urine to tan animal skins, so families used to all pee in a pot & then once a day it was taken & sold to the tannery.......if you had to do this to survive you were "Piss Poor"
But worse than that were the really poor folk who couldn't even afford to buy a pot.......they "didnt have a pot to piss in" & were the lowest of the low

Sometimes in the old days, they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, "bring home the bacon." They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat.

Bread was divided according to status.. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.

Lead cups were used to drink ale or whiskey... The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.

England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus,someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a dead ringer...

Wow! You would have ever guessed