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Our resident male mallard duck likes the deer grain.
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He really likes it.
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He likes it so much he climbs into the bowl and guards it.
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And quacks loudly if anyone gets near.
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I think he’s pooping in it as well….
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Which would explain why the deer haven’t been eating it lately.
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Momma Chuck birthed them and nursed them…
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But now that they’re eating the same solid food ?
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She’s not sharing with them.
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Motherhood has its limits.
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🤣
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Some friends invited us out to dinner and a show on the coast recently.
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Location: The Taste of Maine. Home to the world’s largest inflatable lobster.
It’s a large family run seafood restaurant beloved by tourists but considered over rated and overpriced by us locals.
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Our meal was just that, underwhelming and not worth the cost.
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The show was upstairs and packed to capacity. It featured Bob Marley, a local comedian who sells out everywhere he appears.
To be honest, he’s not my cup of tea. The humor is low brow with too much emphasis on pooping and farting for my taste.
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But our friends love him and were nice enough to pay for our tickets so we couldn’t refuse.
To each their own.
He’s just not for me.
I didn’t video any of the performance, but here’s an example of his style.
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Poor Momma Chuck has her hands paws full with five babies.
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Teaching them to be self sufficient and take advantage of the daily buffet we lay out is exhausting.
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More often than not she beats them to it and gobbles everything up before they wander over.
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Momma needs nourishment and strength.
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As well as a decent support bra.
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What does she think of the local paparazzi?
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This.
🤣
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Do you like gathering friends and family for a good old fashioned game night? Board games, card games, games of skill, games of chance … it doesn’t matter, they’re all fun.
And the best part? You can still take part even after you’re dead.
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Brilliant!
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten is a daddy’s boy. Oh, he tolerates me because I’m the opener of cans and the sifter of poop but it’s my husband he follows from room to room and sleeps with at night. This allegiance also holds sway over freshly folded laundry.
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He curls up on my husband’s.
Never mine.
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A new Sopranos series?
I’m in!
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I can honestly say I’ve never wanted to play ball more in my life.
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#1 mistake?
Eating it. 🤢
(Sorry Mark)
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My first baby chucker count was off by two. There are five baby chuckers and my flower gardens are doomed.
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I try to make friends by sitting on the barn porch and giving them apples.
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I do this so they’ll leave my carefully tended blooms alone.
Sometimes it works, other times I’m left with a bed of bare twigs.
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It seems there’s always one brave little fella in every litter… the one who edges closer and checks me out more thoroughly.
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Yes, they munch my flowers.
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But damn, they’re cute.
❤️
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We had our first baby woodchuck sighting of the season the other day.
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Momma gives birth under the Man Cave/Barn Mahal every year and this summer it looks like three.
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They really are adorable.
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Scampering around trying to convince mom to share her apples.
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I know my flower gardens will suffer.
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But damn, they’re cute.
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😊
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We tried a new restaurant the other day which is something I love to do. If it was up to my husband we would go the same three every time we eat out because he’s an absolute creature of habit.
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City Farmhouse Kitchen and Bar in South Portland.
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The description was urban style with farm to table food. Sounded intriguing, so away we went.
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On first glance the cocktail menu looked stellar. Fresh fruit purées, homemade bitters and local herbs.
Yes please!
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I started with the strawberry basil mojito… which was so good I ordered two.
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I could happily have emptied a pitcher with my less than palatable crab cakes. The tiny things came out of the kitchen in a flash and had that hard crunchy coating that screamed frozen.
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On the plus side my husband’s lobster bisque was divine.
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It was an attractive place, modern with a few strange “farmy” touches.
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Like the fake grassy turf above the bar televisions.
🥴
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Sadly the main portions of our meals were disappointing. The husband’s roasted squash ravioli with root vegetables and sage brown butter were hard as a rock and dry….
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While my chicken tagliatelle with spinach, mushroom and pine nuts was dull as toast. The porcini cream had no flavor and the pasta was pasty.
My third cocktail however, the Indian Summer, was lovely.
Bombay Sapphire Gin, St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur, Fresh-Pressed Lime, Splash of Cranberry, Muddled Pink Grapefruit, Splash of Bubbles.
Conclusion?
Go for drinks and not much else.
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I fear I may have tripped a disturbing algorithm by clicking on those pole dancing mice a while back.
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Now I’ve got a squirrel working the room for tips .
🥴
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Be still my heart.
I don’t have all the ingredients yet so if you beat me to it, let me know how they turn out.
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Required momma woodchuck photo.
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This decanter is wrong in so many ways I don’t know where to start…
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Pickle soup? Equally as wrong…
🤢
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If it’s Monday, it’s time for useless news.
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There’s a question I rarely ask myself.
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Now I’m twice as glad I don’t eat tofu.
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Poor beetle. When I wear my reading glasses I’ve been mistaken for a schoolteacher, … but poo? That’s got to hurt.
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Finally, a church worth attending.
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To heck with the Eucharist, ‘shrooms will help you meet Jesus quicker than stale crackers and boxed wine.
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I’ve got an idea… stop pooping in it.
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Sure. That’s an application totally worthy of crashing our electric grid.
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River's world..... 