Farm News 01-08-06
Sunday morning, after chores, 40°, feels like April
Guy Noir Gets Nasty
Male turkeys are not always pleasant companions. Guy Noir, the current tom turkey, is starting to act out his primal urges in socially unacceptable ways. When he limited himself to chasing Trusty it was humorous. Now he tries to dominate humans as well. Guy might think that I need a good hard peck on the leg, but he has misunderstood the pecking order if he thinks he can get by with it more than a few times.
Replacing a breeding age tom turkey is not easy. Most of the turkeys who weren't needed for breeding are in freezers. The huge Broad Breasted Whites are produced by artificial insemination, Googling 'turkey artificial insemination' produced 82,000 hits, but poking pipettes up a turkey's butt doesn't sound like a fun day in the country.
Hoping to save women and children from Guy's attacks, I decided to move the turkeys into the pasture, so I shooed them all into the pasture, after a prolonged hassle at the gate where the goats were interested in coming out and the geese were intent on keeping visitors away. Guy wanted back out and spent the day pacing back and forth at the gate searching for an escape route.
That evening he flew up on the shed roof to spend the night guarding the farm. The next morning he flew back into the pasture, where he spent the day pacing back and forth at the gate searching for an escape route. The gate, by the way is 40” high, and Guy could easily fly over it, but it never occurs to him to go over the top. He will launch his big butt up to the top of the shed to spend the night, but he won't fly over a low gate. Interesting bird.
Architecture Onward
The Exotic Victorian, A.I.A., Ph.D., sent a comment on the seemingly endless row of urinals in the New Orleans Convention Center.
A Story from 1969
Every good cowboy should have a chance to walk down the street in front of dozens of guns, all pointed at him, smiling and sauntering along as if undisturbed. When the guns are all being pointed by cops, and the cowboy has a gram or two of hash in his pocket, the situation is loaded up with more cojones than the Turkey Testicle Festival. All up and down the street whores were at their windows, deeply inhaling the waves of pheromone laden masculine scents.
The cowboy on this day in 1969 was Joe Grogan, the younger brother of Emmett Grogan, both of them identities used by many people. Young Joe was walking down a street in Kansas City, aiming on smoking some of that hashish with Pete, the Commandant of the Black Panther Party in KC. Pete had called Joe on the phone and said, “Come on down to headquarters and bring something to smoke. You gotta see this. Park several blocks away and walk in.”
Joe hopped on a motorcycle and rode to a place several blocks from Panther headquarters, parked the bike, and started walking. The headquarters was located in a storefront in the middle of the block on the east side. As he turned onto that block he saw the sun gleaming off the windows on the front of the office. One the west side, parked bumper to bumper for the entire block, were police cars. Hundreds of cops were looking over the tops of the police cars with their rifles and shotguns, all aimed at Panther headquarters.
At that moment Joe realized that Pete had called him so that he could share a truly wonderful moment in history. In the front window of the Panther headquarters two big black guys were brandishing shotguns: a 12 gauge and a .410, dangerous but lethal only at close range. Across the street, hiding behind their cars with all kinds of artillery were the hundreds of cops, maybe fifty of them, actually, all focused on those two Panthers in the storefront with an intensity that is matched only by the best of Hollywood productions.
“Yes!” Joe thought, “I'll mix my testosterone into this stew, it should be some fun.” Hitching up his pants, he stepped into the middle of the street, which was now blocked at each end with police barricades, and, hashish at the ready in his pocket, sauntered down the center of the street to Panther headquarters. Police radios were squawking, people were talking, and cars were passing through the intersections at each end of the block, but Joe heard the total silence of the town as he strolled down the center of the street. In front of the Panther headquarters he stopped, turned to the cops, tipped his hat to the hundreds of assault rifles now aimed at him, then turned away and walked into the Panther office.
As he entered the office the two guys with shotguns glared at him for a moment, looking threatening, and then one growled and the other grunted and they went back to posturing for the cops. Pete opened the door to his office and Joe went in to find a couple of other Panther leaders and a local clergyman. They thought that the nonsense out front had gone on long enough, but they didn't want to appear to be backing down, so it would have to continue a for a while. Joe suggested they smoke some hash while waiting, there being nothing better to do.
Joe, the preacher, and the two Black Panthers sat there for a half hour or so, smoking hash, except for the preacher, who said he was on duty, and trying to mellow out, intensely aware of what was going on just beyond the office walls. It was pretty good hash and it accomplished its task nicely, when Pete stepped out of the office in a cloud of smoke we were all ready to relax. Pete returned with the guy that growled, who growled again at everybody, sat down, and reached for the pipe. A few minutes later Pete called in the other warrior, who came in, grunted, sat down, and reached for the pipe.
Twenty minutes later the hash was gone and the cops were getting bored. Grunt and Growl slipped out another door, taking their shotguns with them. Joe, somewhat puzzled over what his role in this drama was intended to be, thanked his hosts for their hospitality, and stepped into the street. Finally, the cops had someone to aim at, again. Joe reflected on the kindness of his hosts, who, by smoking all the hash, had saved him from any contraband substance problems with the cops.
Hitching up his pants, he again walked down the center of the street to the corner, and then went on to his motorcycle. It started on the first kick, and, using his turn signals, he pulled out into the street. As he closed his hand on the clutch lever to shift out of first gear, three police sirens went off simultaneously behind him and Joe decided that it would have been nice if his hosts had given him something for diarrhea control.
According to Joe, chest thumping is one of the lowest forms of testosterone posturing, but some men seem to know no other posturing routine. These cops appeared to be of that sort, Joe was tired, and chest thumping is usually amusing to watch. He submitted to an illegal search, ignored the comments about noxious odors, congratulated himself on the foresight of leaving the pipe behind, and watched the chest thumping display. These guys were tired, too, so it didn't last very long and, finally, everyone went home, certain that they had just saved humanity from disaster.
Rabbits!
Saturday I purchased seven rabbits, sex unknown. When I got them home I found I had two does, one pregnant, and five bucks. Next Saturday at least three of the bucks will go back to the sale and I'll try to buy one more doe. The new rabbits are all lops, they have floppy ears, and, like most lops, are very gentle and easy to handle.
Guy Noir Gets Nasty
Male turkeys are not always pleasant companions. Guy Noir, the current tom turkey, is starting to act out his primal urges in socially unacceptable ways. When he limited himself to chasing Trusty it was humorous. Now he tries to dominate humans as well. Guy might think that I need a good hard peck on the leg, but he has misunderstood the pecking order if he thinks he can get by with it more than a few times.
Replacing a breeding age tom turkey is not easy. Most of the turkeys who weren't needed for breeding are in freezers. The huge Broad Breasted Whites are produced by artificial insemination, Googling 'turkey artificial insemination' produced 82,000 hits, but poking pipettes up a turkey's butt doesn't sound like a fun day in the country.
Hoping to save women and children from Guy's attacks, I decided to move the turkeys into the pasture, so I shooed them all into the pasture, after a prolonged hassle at the gate where the goats were interested in coming out and the geese were intent on keeping visitors away. Guy wanted back out and spent the day pacing back and forth at the gate searching for an escape route.
That evening he flew up on the shed roof to spend the night guarding the farm. The next morning he flew back into the pasture, where he spent the day pacing back and forth at the gate searching for an escape route. The gate, by the way is 40” high, and Guy could easily fly over it, but it never occurs to him to go over the top. He will launch his big butt up to the top of the shed to spend the night, but he won't fly over a low gate. Interesting bird.
Architecture Onward
The Exotic Victorian, A.I.A., Ph.D., sent a comment on the seemingly endless row of urinals in the New Orleans Convention Center.
It sounds like bad planning to me. I think maybe I'd try to put them in aA Reader Writes
more harmonious configuration, like a big circle.
No 'partitions.' They used
to circle the wagons when folks got nervous about losing their scalps.
Circle
the wieners, so they won't worry about scrota.
The Exotic Victorian
Darling Handsome Geezer,
Congratulations on reaching 69. What a great age to
be, for obvious, unmentionable, reasons. I do love hearing the stories about "69" (the year and the position). As a 10 year history teacher, I have recounted many a story to my high school history classes of the turbulent years 1968-69. Many of those stories were based on the observations of a generation of people
related to me. I change the names, of course, to protect the guilty. I'm sure there are many more I haven't heard, please write more.
Martina Starlight
A Story from 1969
Every good cowboy should have a chance to walk down the street in front of dozens of guns, all pointed at him, smiling and sauntering along as if undisturbed. When the guns are all being pointed by cops, and the cowboy has a gram or two of hash in his pocket, the situation is loaded up with more cojones than the Turkey Testicle Festival. All up and down the street whores were at their windows, deeply inhaling the waves of pheromone laden masculine scents.
The cowboy on this day in 1969 was Joe Grogan, the younger brother of Emmett Grogan, both of them identities used by many people. Young Joe was walking down a street in Kansas City, aiming on smoking some of that hashish with Pete, the Commandant of the Black Panther Party in KC. Pete had called Joe on the phone and said, “Come on down to headquarters and bring something to smoke. You gotta see this. Park several blocks away and walk in.”
Joe hopped on a motorcycle and rode to a place several blocks from Panther headquarters, parked the bike, and started walking. The headquarters was located in a storefront in the middle of the block on the east side. As he turned onto that block he saw the sun gleaming off the windows on the front of the office. One the west side, parked bumper to bumper for the entire block, were police cars. Hundreds of cops were looking over the tops of the police cars with their rifles and shotguns, all aimed at Panther headquarters.
At that moment Joe realized that Pete had called him so that he could share a truly wonderful moment in history. In the front window of the Panther headquarters two big black guys were brandishing shotguns: a 12 gauge and a .410, dangerous but lethal only at close range. Across the street, hiding behind their cars with all kinds of artillery were the hundreds of cops, maybe fifty of them, actually, all focused on those two Panthers in the storefront with an intensity that is matched only by the best of Hollywood productions.
“Yes!” Joe thought, “I'll mix my testosterone into this stew, it should be some fun.” Hitching up his pants, he stepped into the middle of the street, which was now blocked at each end with police barricades, and, hashish at the ready in his pocket, sauntered down the center of the street to Panther headquarters. Police radios were squawking, people were talking, and cars were passing through the intersections at each end of the block, but Joe heard the total silence of the town as he strolled down the center of the street. In front of the Panther headquarters he stopped, turned to the cops, tipped his hat to the hundreds of assault rifles now aimed at him, then turned away and walked into the Panther office.
As he entered the office the two guys with shotguns glared at him for a moment, looking threatening, and then one growled and the other grunted and they went back to posturing for the cops. Pete opened the door to his office and Joe went in to find a couple of other Panther leaders and a local clergyman. They thought that the nonsense out front had gone on long enough, but they didn't want to appear to be backing down, so it would have to continue a for a while. Joe suggested they smoke some hash while waiting, there being nothing better to do.
Joe, the preacher, and the two Black Panthers sat there for a half hour or so, smoking hash, except for the preacher, who said he was on duty, and trying to mellow out, intensely aware of what was going on just beyond the office walls. It was pretty good hash and it accomplished its task nicely, when Pete stepped out of the office in a cloud of smoke we were all ready to relax. Pete returned with the guy that growled, who growled again at everybody, sat down, and reached for the pipe. A few minutes later Pete called in the other warrior, who came in, grunted, sat down, and reached for the pipe.
Twenty minutes later the hash was gone and the cops were getting bored. Grunt and Growl slipped out another door, taking their shotguns with them. Joe, somewhat puzzled over what his role in this drama was intended to be, thanked his hosts for their hospitality, and stepped into the street. Finally, the cops had someone to aim at, again. Joe reflected on the kindness of his hosts, who, by smoking all the hash, had saved him from any contraband substance problems with the cops.
Hitching up his pants, he again walked down the center of the street to the corner, and then went on to his motorcycle. It started on the first kick, and, using his turn signals, he pulled out into the street. As he closed his hand on the clutch lever to shift out of first gear, three police sirens went off simultaneously behind him and Joe decided that it would have been nice if his hosts had given him something for diarrhea control.
According to Joe, chest thumping is one of the lowest forms of testosterone posturing, but some men seem to know no other posturing routine. These cops appeared to be of that sort, Joe was tired, and chest thumping is usually amusing to watch. He submitted to an illegal search, ignored the comments about noxious odors, congratulated himself on the foresight of leaving the pipe behind, and watched the chest thumping display. These guys were tired, too, so it didn't last very long and, finally, everyone went home, certain that they had just saved humanity from disaster.
Rabbits!
Saturday I purchased seven rabbits, sex unknown. When I got them home I found I had two does, one pregnant, and five bucks. Next Saturday at least three of the bucks will go back to the sale and I'll try to buy one more doe. The new rabbits are all lops, they have floppy ears, and, like most lops, are very gentle and easy to handle.
posted by The Geezer at 8:48 AM
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