Nothing Much

I went to buy some more New Morning Honey Grahams and found none on the shelf, except the cinnamon flavor, which I settled for. I guess the power of this blog is stronger than I suspected. There is some small chance that my blog had nothing to do with it, but that doesn't seem likely to me.

Ever notice how you can come home from work and want to write something meaningful and find that your brain is as blank and dark as a newly made blackboard? So, this post is about nothing much, but is posted in an effort to prove I have some neurons that haven't been completely blighted by fatigue.

We donated Mr. P to our neighbors. Another way to say it would be that we bargained their labor for our chicken.
Jamey was fairly broken up about it for a few moments. And he'll probably remind us of the trauma in coming weeks and months.
The chicken was big and hungry and mean; he attacked Arthur more than once. But we've found that our friend Kendra and George Orwell are right, and the other rooster, Roadrunner, has stepped up his nastiness to fill the void now that Mr. P is gone. Yesterday he nipped Heidi behind the knee, drawing blood, through her jeans! So, if logic is to follow, we should get rid of him too. However, everyone is beginning to think they will be able to keep the inner trapdoor shut while feeding the little beasts henceforth.