Cows and Hens

You may have noticed the photo of two hairy cows. We (my charming husband and I) have somehow built a herd of a dozen Highland cows. I just wanted a Jersey to milk. He said no. Not just no, but definitely no. He'd end up getting up early to milk the cow, I wouldn't be able to find enough uses for the milk. Etc. Ad nauseum.
Unfortunately, he's right.
But he liked the ideas of cows. And since he has a faux Scots background, we ended up with Ceitagh (Katy), Suisdaigh (Susie), Ailenna (Fuzzy Lumpkin), Burger (now living in the deep freeze). Then Rib Roy and Chuck arrived, and last year we had Ceanagh (Kenna), Briannagh (Brianna), and Duncan. Three more were born this year - Eoinn (Owen), Fergus, and Grace. That's a lot of cowshit.
They do look good in the pasture. But they're smart, and they know where the ends of their horns are. So do I - and sometimes they're poking into me.
We also have hens. 25 hens manage to lay an average of 10 eggs a day and totally trash the garden. The black ones are named Florence, the brown ones either Chicken Little or Henny Penny. There's also Beanie, who is a little black hen with a rose comb and gold topknot. And Farrah, the feral brown one who's comb has never grown.
We have alpacas, too. But that's another story.

My mama done tol' me

My sister has reminded me that our mother often admonished me to keep my trap shut. Actually, she would say, "If you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all," or words to that effect. Of course, sometimes she would just tell me to shut up because I didn't know what I was talking about.
My mother also told me that kids are like pancakes - you should always throw the first one out. Guess where I was in the birth order.
I have spent my entire life ignoring what my mother told me. Why should I change now?
The weather here has been lovely, sometimes a bit warm. Very globalwarmingish. I suppose there are benefits.
Such as, now that the ice is melting in Antarctica, greedy nations are staking claims so they can DRILL FOR OIL. I should be dead by the time they start.
Do I sound like I have my cranky pants on? I do, and I've gained so much weight that the zipper is stuck.

Missing in Tasmania

Living in Tasmania is pretty fantastic. But there a few things missing:
Mexican food (this doesn't seem to exist anywhere in Australia - there are restaurants that claim to have Mexican food, but they're on a par with Taco Bell or Chevy's. Blech. Corn tortillas have WHEAT in them here.)
Real barbecue (Australians think they can barbecue. Hah! A gas griddle with sausages on it is not a barbecue. There's a reason sausages are called "snags" here. It's not a nice reason. And I bet no one here ever deep fries a turkey.)
Baseball (imagine a baseball-esque game going for days. With tea breaks. With guys in baggy clothes swinging a wide-ass bat at a little ball. Forever. That's cricket.Give me a hot dog, a beer, and a game that won't last more than 4 or 5 hours...)
On the other hand, we have Australian Rules football, with guys in short shorts and tight shirts - no padding, either. And rugby, with gigantic men shoving each other.
So I can't complain. Too much. Too often.