In a secret field nesting on a hill, Where time it seems is standing still, A warren of little rabbits sleep: In burrows very quiet they keep. At evening on the grass they graze- Not on lettuce leaves, their craze. No shoes they wear on dewy grass, Nor do they ever use a looking glass; White tailed, furred without a pocket: Can disappear as fast as any rocket.
Over the weekend I gave away my rooster Rocky. I didn't want a rooster in the first place, but when he arrived with the chicks in the Spring and turned out to be a male, I thought I would give him a try, even after my experience with the murderous Penguin earlier this year. Unfortunately Rocky was no different. He badly injured Bip, one of the meekest hens (and great egg layer) in the flock, and I decided she probably wouldn't have been the last if I kept him. The girls are noticeably more at ease without him around, and Bip is on the mend and back out in the hen yard, after several days of hiding from Rocky in the hen house. I will miss his cock-a-doodle-doos and beautiful strut, but after two genuine efforts to understand and keep roosters, that's it for me.
I took a ride in a 1915 Model T at work last week - it was a surprisingly smooth ride and people stare, beep and wave as you pass. The car is operated by a hand lever, three foot pedals and a manual throttle lever beneath the steering wheel. I loved it.