Oh, yesterday how I loved you. Yesterday was the beautiful, marvelous, happy day in which eleven cute little brownies (the human kind, not the chocolate kind) came to see the Funny Farm. They were excited and delighted to arrive and glimpse a llama, an alpaca, a miniature donkey, a miniature horse, two sheep, and three goats. They struggled to keep their active little rear ends on their benches because these eight and nine-year-olds were just so enthusiastic. I loved it. Or I would have loved it if I had actually gotten to witness it.
No, I, Asimov, the beloved and devoted Umbrella Cockatoo of Kathy Gee, found myself shut up in the back of the Jeep enclosed in a little bitty cage sharing the trunk with a bunny and a bunch of cheeping chicks. All right, so I ought to be glad that it was even warm enough that I could go out on display at all. And I ought to be glad that my Kathy is so conscientious about my safety that she didn't leave me out there the whole time to catch a cold. But I admit I've never claimed to be a saint. (Well, maybe I have, but anyway...) I want my cake and eat it too. I wanted to see those little Girl Scouts and not just hear them.
I could hear their giggles, and peals of laughter, and shouts of observation, and random outbursts about their or their families previous animal experiences. I heard them ooh and ahh over the softness of alpaca fur. I heard them vie for their chance to pet Aramis the rambunctious neighing miniature horse. I heard their snorts of disgust when Kathy demonstrated how to clean a bunny's scent glands (and I don't blame them). I heard them attribute my musical demonstrations (okay, loud complaining) coming from the back of the car to the emu, can you believe it?! Emus have none of the finer acoustic qualities that I pride myself on. As you can imagine, I was miffed. Female emus sound like a bass drum and males grunt and growl. You can't even tell it's an emu making the noise. When I want to be heard and you can see me, then you know that it's me making the noise. None of this sneaking, weirdo noise-making for me. Ah hem. Anyway.
The moment came when I was unveiled for their viewing pleasure. And, as you can imagine, they adored me. With a little cracker persuasion (apparently there were no French fries available, but, hey, honestly I'm flexible where food is concerned) I waved, and turned, and kissed, and nodded to their endless delight. Then one of those perceptive and eager little mites asked my Kathy if they could hold me, and, while it hadn't been planned, she complied. A minute or so of holding for each of the girls for what you people call a "photo opportunity" and then a chance to pet my gorgeous feathers and then those girls felt themselves to be in something bordering on Heaven. And that basically ended their Gee Funny Farm experience.
Okay, they did get to practice goat milking with some plastic gloves. And, okay, they did get to watch Kathy milk a goat, but, psh, what's that? Nothing. I was the resolution, the finale, what you might call the star of the show. I only hope they come again soon. Honestly, I think I'm in love.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
What's New? Why, I'm Glad You Asked
Spring is making its merry little way onto the GEE Funny Farm and we are gearing up for you to come see us. I am preening my beautiful white feathers and Isaac is whistling his obnoxiously sweet little whistle. Believe me, we are so cute you cannot stand to miss me . . . ahem, us, I mean.
With the advent of spring, not only do you have the pleasure of getting a look at my good lookin' winged body when you come get educated at the farm, we also have babies, babies, babies. We have more babies than I can stand. Babies take up too much of the spotlight. Stinkin' babies. Anyway, besides Kathy's grandbabies (who are visiting for the summer), the farm animal babies are increasing up the wazoo. Holy cow are we overrun by babies! We do not however have any such cow, holy or secular, baby or adult, I am sorry to tell you bovine animal admirers.
What we do have now is a bottle-fed lamb tramping around the upstairs, nibbling on jackets sitting on the backs of chairs, maaa-ing for mama (who in her confused little mind is my Kathy), prancing around behind Kathy wherever she may go. Sort of reminds me of a nursery rhyme: Kathy had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb . . . and all that jazz. Well, except that she is more like a dirty brown color instead of a white as snow color, but whatever.
We also just got a passel, er, group, er, some sort of gathering of chicks sitting inside a cardboard box under a sun lamp right inside the garage door. Unlike my ear-catching (Isaac has the gall to say "ear-deafening") squawks, these disgusting little lady angels keep up a perpetual quiet chirp. Born only yesterday, they seem completely delighted to chirp, nibble on chick feed, and daintily sip (and walk through) their water dish. At least so far, they seem much cuter than they are interesting, not an insult anyone would ever give to me, by golly.
The babies are not all coddled in the indoors (thank heavens or I think I would puke). In fact, there is a baby goat out in the barnyard, born right here on this amazing little farm, who is a month old, only a one-day difference in birthdays between the lamb and the kid. The kid is a male, currently nursing from his mama goat, helping provide a milk goat for the summer. (I warn you, not everybody has the goat milking skill to begin with, but you can try your hand if you think you're tough enough.)
We have one other addition who is still bordering on the baby stage: an alpaca. This white huacaya alpaca just joined the farm about a week ago. What is an alpaca you say? Well, I have no idea. What do you think I am? A fountain of unending knowledge. No, just kidding; I mean, I really am . . . a fountain of unending knowledge, that is. An alpaca is a bit like a llama. Both were bred domestically in South America for wool. The alpaca's wool is softer than a llama's wool, though.
Okay, okay, you are here just getting yourselves a free GEE Funny Farm lesson and I won't have any more of that. If you really want to know about these animals, and you really want to admire yourself an adorable little ball of fuzz or fur, and you really want to set your eyes on this hunk of white perfection, then you really ought to come see us. Please. I want out of my cage. And I wouldn't mind a few French fries either.
With the advent of spring, not only do you have the pleasure of getting a look at my good lookin' winged body when you come get educated at the farm, we also have babies, babies, babies. We have more babies than I can stand. Babies take up too much of the spotlight. Stinkin' babies. Anyway, besides Kathy's grandbabies (who are visiting for the summer), the farm animal babies are increasing up the wazoo. Holy cow are we overrun by babies! We do not however have any such cow, holy or secular, baby or adult, I am sorry to tell you bovine animal admirers.
What we do have now is a bottle-fed lamb tramping around the upstairs, nibbling on jackets sitting on the backs of chairs, maaa-ing for mama (who in her confused little mind is my Kathy), prancing around behind Kathy wherever she may go. Sort of reminds me of a nursery rhyme: Kathy had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb . . . and all that jazz. Well, except that she is more like a dirty brown color instead of a white as snow color, but whatever.
We also just got a passel, er, group, er, some sort of gathering of chicks sitting inside a cardboard box under a sun lamp right inside the garage door. Unlike my ear-catching (Isaac has the gall to say "ear-deafening") squawks, these disgusting little lady angels keep up a perpetual quiet chirp. Born only yesterday, they seem completely delighted to chirp, nibble on chick feed, and daintily sip (and walk through) their water dish. At least so far, they seem much cuter than they are interesting, not an insult anyone would ever give to me, by golly.
The babies are not all coddled in the indoors (thank heavens or I think I would puke). In fact, there is a baby goat out in the barnyard, born right here on this amazing little farm, who is a month old, only a one-day difference in birthdays between the lamb and the kid. The kid is a male, currently nursing from his mama goat, helping provide a milk goat for the summer. (I warn you, not everybody has the goat milking skill to begin with, but you can try your hand if you think you're tough enough.)
We have one other addition who is still bordering on the baby stage: an alpaca. This white huacaya alpaca just joined the farm about a week ago. What is an alpaca you say? Well, I have no idea. What do you think I am? A fountain of unending knowledge. No, just kidding; I mean, I really am . . . a fountain of unending knowledge, that is. An alpaca is a bit like a llama. Both were bred domestically in South America for wool. The alpaca's wool is softer than a llama's wool, though.
Okay, okay, you are here just getting yourselves a free GEE Funny Farm lesson and I won't have any more of that. If you really want to know about these animals, and you really want to admire yourself an adorable little ball of fuzz or fur, and you really want to set your eyes on this hunk of white perfection, then you really ought to come see us. Please. I want out of my cage. And I wouldn't mind a few French fries either.
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