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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/20lbDPb:
magickedteacup replied to your photo:Whiskey is pleased to greet me as I arrive. She’s…
whiskey is the great name I have ever seen for a cat
Whiskey is the tiny one. Last autumn I set up my yurt on what turned out to be her hunting grounds; she decided it was clearly a house for her, and paid me rent in small dead things unexpectedly deposited in the middle of my floor. (Alarming! But, uh, sweet? I guess?) My sister was shocked; she’d never seen Whiskey take any prey larger than an insect, but I was gifted sparrows, voles, field mice, and one quite large mouse, as well as assorted internal organs and body parts I couldn’t place. I considered de-fleshing the skulls and making a very tiny palisade of skulls as a decoration, but decided that was not actually something I was in any way interested in.
Her brother is named Reno. And then the older cat is named Beans. And there’s a tragic story behind all of it. See, Beans was one of a set. She’s a tortie, and she had a white brother named Rice. Get it? Rice and Beans? Super cute! But Rice did not survive kittenhood, he just did that cat-concealing-illness thing and was fine one day and gone the next, and then they had a solo cat randomly named Beans. So they said, no more sets of names.
That’s one of two naming conventions in this household; the other is that they don’t name meat. On a farm that raises livestock for meat, that’s important; it’s hard enough to kill animals you raised, and worse if they’ve got cute names. It’s not a rule they can always abide by, though. The sows keep getting names.
The egg chickens, though, they can have names. The hens all look identical and there are like, two hundred of them, but the mixed bag of roosters stand out. The current top-dog rooster is this absolutely fabulous golden thing named Fabio, who is enormous and glorious and knows it. And there’s a very junior-in-status rooster who got beat up and lost an eye, and afterward promoted himself to free-range, and he is named Odin and is very fond of standing on one foot just out of reach and pretending he’s not watching you do whatever you’re doing around the farm. He is an absolute master at running away from the child so casually that he never actually has to break into a run. He just… sidles.
He also gets into crowing wars with the other roosters. But he won’t go back in the pen with them. He’s on his own. Something’s probably going to eat him, but hasn’t yet.
magickedteacup replied to your photo:Whiskey is pleased to greet me as I arrive. She’s…
whiskey is the great name I have ever seen for a cat
Whiskey is the tiny one. Last autumn I set up my yurt on what turned out to be her hunting grounds; she decided it was clearly a house for her, and paid me rent in small dead things unexpectedly deposited in the middle of my floor. (Alarming! But, uh, sweet? I guess?) My sister was shocked; she’d never seen Whiskey take any prey larger than an insect, but I was gifted sparrows, voles, field mice, and one quite large mouse, as well as assorted internal organs and body parts I couldn’t place. I considered de-fleshing the skulls and making a very tiny palisade of skulls as a decoration, but decided that was not actually something I was in any way interested in.
Her brother is named Reno. And then the older cat is named Beans. And there’s a tragic story behind all of it. See, Beans was one of a set. She’s a tortie, and she had a white brother named Rice. Get it? Rice and Beans? Super cute! But Rice did not survive kittenhood, he just did that cat-concealing-illness thing and was fine one day and gone the next, and then they had a solo cat randomly named Beans. So they said, no more sets of names.
That’s one of two naming conventions in this household; the other is that they don’t name meat. On a farm that raises livestock for meat, that’s important; it’s hard enough to kill animals you raised, and worse if they’ve got cute names. It’s not a rule they can always abide by, though. The sows keep getting names.
The egg chickens, though, they can have names. The hens all look identical and there are like, two hundred of them, but the mixed bag of roosters stand out. The current top-dog rooster is this absolutely fabulous golden thing named Fabio, who is enormous and glorious and knows it. And there’s a very junior-in-status rooster who got beat up and lost an eye, and afterward promoted himself to free-range, and he is named Odin and is very fond of standing on one foot just out of reach and pretending he’s not watching you do whatever you’re doing around the farm. He is an absolute master at running away from the child so casually that he never actually has to break into a run. He just… sidles.
He also gets into crowing wars with the other roosters. But he won’t go back in the pen with them. He’s on his own. Something’s probably going to eat him, but hasn’t yet.
