tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55901949152887219482008-07-22T11:33:35.125-05:00Formica FieldsFleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-66086216665966635282008-06-16T11:31:00.001-05:002008-06-16T11:33:20.564-05:00World Travelers<span style="font-family: verdana;">Fred and Bessie have crossed the Pond! To see where in the world they are now, check out <a href="http://imbeingheldhostage.blogspot.com/">In the Gutter</a> today. Looks like she's glad to welcome her new visitors! I may never get them home, but oh! they'll have so much to tell their grandkids!<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-86000450076824719692008-06-15T11:42:00.000-05:002008-06-16T11:43:37.082-05:00Happy Father's Day!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SFaYIl67OTI/AAAAAAAALMU/vEv2-ufIBvA/s1600-h/fathersday.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SFaYIl67OTI/AAAAAAAALMU/vEv2-ufIBvA/s400/fathersday.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212520892113566002" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Happy Father's Day!<br /><br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-56686752872702633002008-05-10T22:10:00.000-05:002008-05-10T22:12:10.804-05:00Happy Mother's Day!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SCZjyqyZZuI/AAAAAAAAJeM/Op32iphBzJg/s1600-h/goo+mothers+day.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SCZjyqyZZuI/AAAAAAAAJeM/Op32iphBzJg/s400/goo+mothers+day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198952541976094434" border="0" /></a>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-30901805020803183292008-05-06T14:21:00.001-05:002008-05-06T14:22:53.185-05:00It's a Strong Name(<a href="http://formicafields.blogspot.com/2008/04/whats-in-name.html">continued from this post</a>)<br /><br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Finally! Talking with Perry out of Prissy’s hearing seemed to be the key. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could he not have thought that Priscilla might be in the vitamin basket? She is so sneaky! Once he had Perry alone, the two were able to brainstorm names for quite awhile. He just knew Perry wasn’t as whipped as all that!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">The final list was short, sure, but how many ‘best’ names could there be for his boy? And his favorite was sure to be a winner with Bessie – Magnus. No one would make fun of a little bull named Magnus. Ever. Even the runner’s up were enough to frighten other farm animals – Steele and Lance. All three had a certain ring to them. Noble. Sincere. Earthy, almost, without being kooky. Yes, Bessie was bound to agree to one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">As Fred approached the butter dish, his son gamboled out to greet him, eyes crossed while licking the butter off of his nose. Maybe Magnus wasn’t such a great fit after all. No! Fred licked his calf’s head and called for Bessie, not seeing her in the usual spot, resting against the butter. “Bessie!” There she was! Coming around the toaster, Bessie was all smiles, a wicked little glint in her eye. This could not be good. “Bessie, what have you done?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">“Fred! What do you mean? Hello to you, too! Did you and Perry have a nice chat? Don’t look at me like that? Where <i style="">else</i> would you be without me? Since we’ve had our son, you don’t go any further than Perry’s basket. What’s up?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Nothing like a cow who thinks she knows everything to disarm a bull. Now what was he thinking when he walked up? Oh! Magnus! “Bessie, I’ve come up with a name that even you will love for our boy – Magnus! It’s strong and virile. None of the other farm animals will make fun of him for it. He’ll grow into it quite nicely. What do you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Bessie looked surprised, as though she’d been caught off guard. In fact, she stood for a moment, quite speechless, until Fred was a little concerned, but pleased. Maybe this really WAS the right name! When she spoke, though, it was his turn to be speechless.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">“Well, Fred, I was just talking to Prissy, and I had about decided to name the calf myself, without you. The names you’d chosen till now have all been rather – ridiculous.” The smirk was back, though a little shaky.<o:p></o:p></span></p> (to be continued)Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-50871701098475281042008-04-27T22:17:00.003-05:002008-04-27T22:29:55.304-05:00And the Award Goes To ...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SBVEr5w3yvI/AAAAAAAAIck/Jfd9teOBG6k/s1600-h/Moo+award.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SBVEr5w3yvI/AAAAAAAAIck/Jfd9teOBG6k/s400/Moo+award.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194133266272602866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I know, I know - no story up yet. It's my mom's fault. :D I had a great day today, partly due to her stopping by and visiting for a bit, as well as teaching me some Photoshop madness. So story tomorrow.<br /><br />But! I have to give an award! The first ever Fred and Bessie Moo to You! award handed out on this site! <a href="http://overflowingbrain.blogspot.com/">Katie, at Overflowing Brain</a>, is marking her first year anniversary of blogging today! Instead of giving her the blogiversary award, I'm giving her a special award from the Bovines, because I know they'd want me to. Even though they're still not home *sniff* And because this award serves double duty for her 5 month mark after brain surgery. Way cool. So make room on your trophy shelf, Katie! The cows have an award just for YOU!<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-89893812703871839532008-04-26T18:47:00.001-05:002008-04-26T18:49:01.051-05:00Safe Inside<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://dlynz.blogspot.com/2008/04/gangs-all-here.html">The bovines have finally been lured inside</a>! Hoorah! Dlyn is a miracle worker.<br /><br />Tomorrow (hopefully) a new installment of the continuing saga of Fred and Bessie!<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-12040257170530283192008-04-24T15:48:00.002-05:002008-04-24T15:56:33.040-05:00Dlyn - the brave and wonderful and perseverant - is trying new means for luring Fred and Bessie in to her home. <a href="http://dlynz.blogspot.com/2008/04/hiding-holsteins.html">Hop over and see what she's attempting today</a>. Maybe give suggestions for what may work. Those little buggers keep skittering away every time they see her! Maybe she could set some of her kitchen cow collection outside, let them know they're not alone, see if they'll have a conversation? Just a thought.<br /><br />It's comforting knowing where they are and that they're in good hands. Good luck, Dlyn! And thank you!<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />Flea<br /><br />P.S. To entertain you, in their absence, a lolkows photo I did to keep me from falling apart:<br /><br /><a href="http://mine.icanhascheezburger.com/view.aspx?ciid=1017203"><img src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/4/22/marinate2pow128533890789531250.jpg" alt="funny pictures" /></a><br />moar <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/">funny pictures</a>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-9590576425476700262008-04-23T20:27:00.002-05:002008-04-23T20:34:09.791-05:00Washing the CatMy husband suggested I post <a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=_dSToExy4yA">this video</a> with this post, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It's horrid. Don't watch it.<br /><br />I thought you'd enjoy this little story I wrote recently. Here, for your reading pleasure, How Not to Wash the Cat:<br /><br /> <p class="MsoNormal">"Mom, can we wash the cat?"</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"No."</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Mom, can we wash the cat?"</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"No."</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Mom, the cat's been rolling in the sand. He's really dirty. Can we wash the cat?"</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"No, cats wash themselves. Don't ask again."</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Mom, can we wash the cat PLEASE?"</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Fine. You want to wash the cat, go wash the cat.'</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My brother and I grabbed the cat and made a break for the bathroom. Lou, our cat, rolls in sand all the time and it turns him from orange to brown. He also gets sand all over my bed while I’m at school. Mom says if I made my bed every morning I wouldn't have to sleep on sandy sheets. I think if I washed the cat I wouldn't have to sleep on sandy sheets. I hate sandy sheets. And I know Lou hates being brown.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Don't forget the towels and shampoo!" called Mom. "And keep the bathroom door closed! Let your brother run some water first. And keep the bathroom door CLOSED!"</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Alright, Mom!" Geez! You'd think I was two or something. I know how to wash a cat!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lou doesn’t like water much, and he started squirming when my brother started the water running. Good thing I closed the door. Holding squirmy Lou, I leaned over the tub to see if there was enough water – and I let go of the cat. But he didn’t fall in. Instead, he grabbed my shirt with his claws. My shirt? He grabbed my skin and muscles and even my BONES with his claws! Little twinkly lights were jumping all around the room while my brother peeled Lou off of me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I ran out of the bathroom, slammed the door, shot past my mom to the kitchen. “Where are you going?” asked Mom.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Band-aids.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Back in the bathroom, my brother was washing the cat without me. I could hear him, Lou I mean, meowling and screeching. I could hear the water splashing. I could hear my brother yelling something. Something I think I’ve heard Daddy yell when he’s fixing something and doesn’t think we’re listening. I ran back in, slamming the door shut behind me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Wait! I wanted to wash the cat!” Lou was covered in bubbles and my brother was soaking wet, with red scratches all over his face, crying a little. He says to tell you that he wasn’t crying, but I saw him. He says it was just the water from the tub. I know crying, and he was crying. I ran back to the kitchen, slamming the bathroom door behind me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I passed Mom she asked, “Where are you going?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Band-aids.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I opened the door, my brother was holding Lou by the tail with both hands, both of them yelling. I grabbed the towel and wrapped it around the cat. Brother says, “Cover his head! Wrap him tighter! Don’t let him go!”<span style=""> </span>Then I walked down the hall to my Mom and set the cat in her lap, towel and all.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“We’re done,” I say. “You can dry him.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think, when we left the room, I heard Mom laugh.</p> Moo to You!<br /><br />FleaFleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-91250714168880981252008-04-22T23:05:00.001-05:002008-04-22T23:07:03.849-05:00What's in a Name?(<a href="http://formicafields.blogspot.com/2008/04/fred-asks-for-help.html">continued from here</a>)<br /><br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">When would he ever learn? Bessie may not be the most assertive cow, but she certainly wasn’t backing down this time. A name is one of the most important things a mama can give her calf, and this little bull was going to get the best one for him. So what if Fred didn’t like her choices? He’d made it pretty clear what he thought of her list. Very, very clear.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">She understood what the little one had to face in life – the ridicule from the other animals, torture from the Giants, blinding flashes from the redheaded Giant’s device (possibly causing blindness in one so young), dust accumulation, smoke inhalation, the list was endless. Facing that kind of life with a name like Taurus was ridiculous. None of the others in the kitchen would have anything to do with her calf if she saddled him with that! Why, just look at the way they treated poor <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Phoenix</st1:place></st1:City>, the goose creamer’s son down the way. Of course, what a silly goose was thinking, naming one of its children after such a noble bird … that was neither here nor there. Her son was going to have a normal name, not one which set him above the others and called ridicule on him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Priscilla understood, even if her husband did not. Prissy had common sense, she did. She loved the name Wallace nearly as much as Bessie. Wallace had character. It was stable. Comfortable. Strong. No one would pick on a Wallace. Her little bull even <i style="">looked</i> like a Wallace. Well, at least right now he looked like a Wally. And that would just have to do.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Would Fred hear her out? Noooo. She’d get as far as, “Minotaur is a noble, strong name, I agree, but the other creatures will think he’s too proud. They’ll make fun of him.” He’d shut her down every time. His moo would grow loud and agitated. She learned that she couldn’t have these conversations while the Giants were awake. Fred was just too darn loud. Maybe she’d just have to name the calf and get it over with.<o:p></o:p></span></p> (to be continued)Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-54238348076746415492008-04-22T21:51:00.002-05:002008-04-22T21:52:02.796-05:00Stay Tuned!Coming soon: a new addition to the continuing saga of Fred and Bessie. Stay tuned!Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-33111824941299481312008-04-22T19:17:00.003-05:002008-04-22T19:20:34.015-05:00They're FOUND!!!<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">What's that old saying? Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition! <a href="http://dlynz.blogspot.com/2008/04/more-visitors.html">Fred and Bessie have been found!</a> I can't exactly say that they're safe and sound, but they look to be intact. Yay!!! Thank you, Dlyn, for watching over them! I hope they'll come in for you soon. If they don't I don't know WHAT I'll do! Poor little cows.<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-64218679820177544612008-04-21T07:33:00.003-05:002008-04-21T08:59:40.877-05:00A Huge Break!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There's been a major break in the case of the missing cows! I received an email this morning from an unknown address, one I've had no luck tracking, with this attached picture:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAyJ-2AZkKI/AAAAAAAAH14/vklBwea1qOY/s1600-h/note.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAyJ-2AZkKI/AAAAAAAAH14/vklBwea1qOY/s400/note.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191676183193424034" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So they're in New York. Or someplace called Noo Yorck. I'm going to go through my blogroll later today and see if I know anyone in New York, since I don't know anyone in real life there, and ask if any of my bloggy friends have seen them. I might alert the authorities, but I don't know if this means the City or the state, which is huge. From the look of the picture, it's probably not the City. My poor little cows, lost and alone, halfway across the country.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Please help me find them and get them home? I'm offering autographed photos of the bovines - they signed them a few days before they disappeared, for a publicity thing they never got to - for anyone offering solid leads to where they are. Please keep an eye out for them! Thank you!</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Moo to You!</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Flea</span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-18624943211448024412008-04-19T16:03:00.003-05:002008-04-19T16:19:57.030-05:00A Good, Strong Lead<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">An anonymous tip leads me to believe that Fred and Bessie are traveling to New York. I looked into the tips about their <a href="http://www.simplybovine.com/">new modeling career</a>, but nothing came of it. It seems someone with an airbrush, a clever someone, has touched up <a href="http://www.funtocollect.com/cowandbullshakers.html">another pair of cows</a> to make them closely resemble my cows. I know my cows, though, and they ain't mine. No, they're almost definitely working their way to New York.<br /><br />The anonymous tipsters - I call them that for good reason - left a tiny note, written in ketchup on my kitchen counter. There were multiple red hoof marks - little split hooves - all around the note. I wish I'd taken a picture, but the Hunny took the camera with him to Cub World (he's on a camping trip with the boys). It said, "The kowz r gon to Nu Yrk. Dont look fer them heer nymoor." Took me awhile to decipher it. By then the ketchup was a sticky and stinky and I scrubbed the counter. But I'm pretty sure it means, "The cows are gone to New York. Don't look for them here anymore."<br /><br />So anyone out there, in that vicinity, please keep an eye open for my little darlings. If you see them, please try and find out why they left? I'm going to light a candle here and hope for the best.<br /><br />Moo to You -<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-21462603140928852432008-04-17T16:28:00.002-05:002008-04-17T16:41:19.788-05:00What We Have So Far<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I am sad to report that there is so far no sign of Fred and Bessie. Here's what we know so far:<br /><br />I found a photo of the two staring toward the east coast of the US on a map.<br /><br />There were hoof prints in the butter.<br /><br />Perry and Priscilla Pig are being awfully closemouthed now, acting suspiciously.<br /><br />The bovines love road trips.<br /><br />Lou didn't take them (as much as he loves milk, his preference is birds and it's spring).<br /><br />The children didn't take them.<br /><br />The Hunny misses them. A little. Very little.<br /><br />I miss them. A lot. Very lot.<br /><br />They don't seem to be in the house at all, and the neighborhood signs yield no results.<br /><br />There were signs of them in the yard, but I think that's just in my head.<br /><br />Here's another picture, so you don't forget what they look like, and so you can find them. I'm giving three rewards - different autographed pictures of the cows. That was all they could do when we were working on them. I threw away the ones with the spilled ink and hoof prints covering Bessie's face. Don't ask. Long story. Stupid cows.<br /><br />Never mind. Stupid Blogger. It's not loading pictures right now. :(<br /><br />Moo to You -<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-49907763662983982982008-04-16T08:19:00.000-05:002008-04-16T08:06:49.518-05:00A Clue?<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So I'm cleaning the kitchen this morning (yes, people, I leave a sink full of dishes every night - don't act so surprised - I like doing dishes in the morning), and I find this:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SATHySaq-LI/AAAAAAAAH0M/Wd2apaWh5Cc/s1600-h/f_b_map.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SATHySaq-LI/AAAAAAAAH0M/Wd2apaWh5Cc/s400/f_b_map.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189492337388746930" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Could this be a hint???? I found this photo shoved under some other papers on the kitchen counter. Looks like F&amp; B were looking at maps online - and they seem to be looking in an easterly direction? What could this mean?</span><br /><div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Of course, this raises other questions. Like, how did they get upstairs to the Hunny's computer? This isn't my laptop. And who helped them take this picture, then hid it in my paperwork (anything tucked in the stack is as good as lost in this house)? It looks like they might have taken off on a road trip. Stink. Many of you are east of here, so please keep an eye out for them? Meanwhile, I'm going to keep canvassing the neighborhood (though so far all searches have been fruitless).<br /><br />Again, and now especially, if you have any leads please let me know? I'm giving an autographed, signed picture of the bovines to anyone who locates them. They signed the picture of Fred kissing the hamster, even though Bessie got it a little messy. She wasn't too pleased with that shot.<br /><br />Thank you, thank you! I'm hopeful and scared!<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /></span></div>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-79802746148946205912008-04-15T09:17:00.003-05:002008-04-15T09:21:41.803-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAS5NCaq-KI/AAAAAAAAH0E/SsFH0h7SmxI/s1600-h/reward+poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAS5NCaq-KI/AAAAAAAAH0E/SsFH0h7SmxI/s400/reward+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189476304275830946" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Please, if you have the time and inclination, post this where people can see it? And maybe let people know that there's butter involved. On their hooves, I mean. It might be a clue. Or if there's butter missing, or tracked all over the furniture. It might be these two. It might be something else, but I don't have the energy to worry about that right now.<br /><br />As I stated in the post below, the reward is simple. Some autographed publicity photos that the cows and I were working on last week. Thank you.<br /><br />Moo to You -<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-87830006784110141882008-04-15T07:08:00.002-05:002008-04-15T07:17:31.081-05:00Small Reward Offered in the Disappearance of Cows<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Panic is beginning to set in. People, I have asked my children, my Hunny, looked everywhere in the house and car - no cows. I'm on high alert here. In fact, I'm offering a reward for whoever finds them. Nothing big - I still owe the state of Oklahoma money. :( But maybe some autographed photos of the bovines? We were preparing for a local publicity stunt last week, and I was dinking around with Photoshop while Fred and Bessie pushed buttons on the printer (drove me crazy! I kept yelling at them every time they'd make the red light blink frantically. FINALLY got pictures of them printed! And you should have SEEN the ridiculous affair of trying to get those two to sign their names! They can't write - what was I thinking? We threw a lot of them away, but I have a couple of cute shots with their little hoof prints on them).<br /><br />So I'm thinking they ran away from home. How far could they get, really? And where would they go? I'm going to work, today, on reward posters with their picture to post around the neighborhood and close to home. Probably have the kids out on their bikes asking the neighbor kids if they've seen any suspicious activity.<br /><br />Help? Please? PLEASE?!? I know we can find them if we work together. Thank you! I love you all! MWAH!<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-35503630220690105262008-04-14T07:27:00.003-05:002008-04-14T07:34:28.632-05:00Trying to Remain Calm<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Ok, I'm trying not to panic. I got up this morning and the bovines were GONE. It's been over an hour now, I've scanned the house, <a href="http://thegoodflea.com/2008/01/in-night-kitchen.html">put out popcorn kernels</a>, and can't kind them anywhere. Remind me to get the popcorn up before I go to bed, so it doesn't attract mice. Unless Fred and Bessie show up and eat it, which is what I'm hoping will happen.<br /><br />I got up, made the coffee, woke the kids, walked over to the cutting board to pat the cows on the head, and they WEREN'T THERE. At all. It happens occasionally, but they're usually on the counter SOMEWHERE. Not this morning. And I can't find them anywhere. It's starting to freak me out a little. I'm not usually given to panic, but this just isn't like them.<br /><br /><a href="http://thegoodflea.com/2008/04/red-alert-red-alert.html">I did post about it on my blog</a>, but I thought I'd give the heads up to readers here. And if they don't show up soon, this is where I'll continue to post till I find them. I'll try not to be annoying, like the TV news programs. But I AM worried. Y'all, help!<br /><br />Moo to You -<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-81283756532292594172008-04-13T17:53:00.000-05:002008-04-13T17:54:25.200-05:00Fred Asks for Help<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">(Continued)<br /><br /></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">What if cows gave root beer instead of milk?<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">He couldn’t get that stupid sentence out of his head. For days Fred had walked around, bored, waiting for Bessie to have a little bit of free time for him, when one of the Giants had asked the question. Root beer. Grr.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Well my boy would be dead, is what would happen. Don’t those Giants realize milk nourishes my calf? Bessie might have snorted milk out of her nose when I told her what Oatmeal Head said, but <b style="">I</b> don’t think it was funny <b style="">at all</b>. How would they like it if I gave their calves root beer? Maybe that’s what their mamas produce! It would serve them right.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Still fuming, his thoughts jumped track, back to the name for their little bull. So far Bessie had come up with a whole list of idiotic names, while vetoing all of his perfectly thought out names. What on earth was wrong with Taurus or Minotaur? They spoke strength and courage! Things a little bull needs! She was so stubborn sometimes! He only wished his dad had cared enough to name him so well! <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Frederick</st1:place></st1:City> – a name only a mother could give. Paugh. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">And what names had Bessie come up with? Alfred, Earnest, Wallace – pansy names! He’d be laughed right out of the kitchen! When he’d said as much to Bessie, she’s simply smiled and licked Fred behind the ear. The nerve! Then she had the nerve to ask if that meant he, Fred, would be laughed out of the kitchen, or their calf! Of all the … words didn’t do it justice.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">He was just going to have to take matters into his own hands. Their new friends, Perry and Priscilla, the pigs who now lived in the vitamin basket, would understand. Well, Perry would understand. Priscilla, with her pink ribbon and dainty hooves, would certainly side with Bessie. He’d march right over – limp over, since his side still hurt - and get Perry’s opinion. He was NOT going down without a fight.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Of all the times for Bessie to grow a spine! Giving birth really changed her. Well, maybe it wasn’t giving birth, exactly. She came back from that glue mission a different cow. Whatever it was, she’s just wrong about this!<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Hearing a grunt, Fred looked up to find Perry staring at him, almost muzzle to snout. Oop! He hadn’t realized how far he’d walked. Standing near the vitamin basket was Perry, watching Fred closely, as though he was afraid of what Fred was thinking. The anxious look faded as Fred relaxed and gave Perry his best smile. This was not a good time to trigger Perry’s anxiety disorder.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">“Perry! Just the pig I wanted to see! How’s Prissy? All well in the basket? You guys making yourselves at home?” Fred paused to let Perry take all of this in, knowing he was a little slow on the uptake. Best to take the conversation at Perry’s pace.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">“Fred! Prissy’s doing great! Just jealous of your Bessie, if you know what I mean. How are <i style="">you</i>, bo? The side still giving you trouble? I wish I’d been here to help when you fell.” (<i style="">If Fred had to hear that one more time he was going to kick Perry’s snout in!</i>) “Bessie and the calf doing okay?” Perry shuffled back a little, swaying his head back and forth as though sniffing the air, something which drove Fred crazy. What, was he always looking for food? Whatever. The mission; that’s what mattered. Focus.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">“Perry, my swine, I’m in need of a testosterone filled opinion. One which only a true male of the species can give. You’re the first guy I thought of. In fact, you’re the <i style="">only</i> one I thought of! You got a minute?” Fred moved in a bit, winking and grinning.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">“Uhh … sure, Fred. What’s going on? I don’t know how much I can help …” As Perry’s voice trailed off, head dropping slightly, Fred grinned a little broader. So close.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">“Perry, we still don’t have a name for Junior over there. I’ve gone through every name I can think of – everything strong and bullish – but nothing seems to fit the little guy. I know how much Bessie thinks of your opinion, and I know you love labeling stuff … no, don’t deny it! You come up with the best names for everything! Whadda ya say? Help me out? It needs to be beefy, brawny, rugged. Help me out?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Perry looked a little nervous. No, Perry looked a <i style="">lot</i> nervous. Had Bessie already gotten to Priscilla? No, she couldn’t have. She never left that calf long enough to talk to anyone, much less to Prissy. It was just Perry being piggish. He couldn’t help it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">“See, the thing is, Fred, I don’t think I can help you. Prissy says Bessie has already picked out names for the little guy. And I really like some of them. I mean, if you want me to tell you the ones I like the most, if that will help you make a decision and make Bessie happy, I can do that.” Perry edged away from Fred, his head swaying violently, front feet tapping a rhythm on the Formica. Fred had never seen Perry so agitated. What the heck? Did Prissy have him that fettered? “I really like Wallace. You could call him Wally. Or Wall-wall. It would suit the little bull, Wallace would.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;;">Could Perry see the pepper coming out of Fred’s ears? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">(to be continued)</span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-64347470452162621512008-04-12T19:06:00.021-05:002008-04-12T20:44:34.090-05:00The La-la-la-library!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFhHyaq-GI/AAAAAAAAHzY/HKoAARKgni8/s1600-h/IMG_2467.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFhHyaq-GI/AAAAAAAAHzY/HKoAARKgni8/s400/IMG_2467.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188535032128141410" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Have you ever seen one of these? Did you know that they existed? I found myself digging through my purse for change, just so I could see what these gel pens look like (fresh out of change). How cool is this? Since when did schools begin dispensing supplies like a truck stop restroom?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So we were on our way to the school library (after Mrs. Clark kicked us out when the bovines tried taking over the classroom - the little dictators), when we passed this vending machine. Fred was suddenly all wiggly, trying to jump out of my purse. Thank goodness for a strong magnetic flap keeping it closed! I guess he had his head poking out of the corner, watching the world go by, when he saw this thing and went nuts. I had to stop and make sure everything was okay, taking the two of them out, and</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Fred tried climbing up my arm to get to the machine. I thought it a perfect photo opp, but I had to drop th</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">e camera to avert disaster, so you won't see the shot I missed - these two climbing down to crawl into the machine. What goes through the head of a ceramic cow?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFRxyaq-CI/AAAAAAAAHy4/DMO4oavPaBk/s1600-h/IMG_2464.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFRxyaq-CI/AAAAAAAAHy4/DMO4oavPaBk/s400/IMG_2464.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188518161496602658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Once I'd rescued them, I looked up to find that we were two steps from the library. Inside we were met by a librarian with a million questions. Did the cows have ID badges? No. Had they signed in at the office? Yes. What was their reading level? Illiterate. Could they please keep their voices down? Maybe. At least we weren't asked to leave. We've been places where Fred and Bessie's antics have gotten us kicked out pretty quickly. Like Mrs. Clark's class just a few minutes before!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />I let the moos know, in no uncertain terms, that this would be their LAST outing if they couldn't behave themselves. They listened and nodded quietly. Deceptive creatur</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">es.<br /><br /></span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFReiaq-BI/AAAAAAAAHyw/Jqf2qckIceQ/s1600-h/IMG_2455.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFReiaq-BI/AAAAAAAAHyw/Jqf2qckIceQ/s400/IMG_2455.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188517830784120850" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of the recommended reads for Oklahoma children is Magic Tree House. No no no. It's Twisters and Other Terrible Storms. I mean, both together. This time of year in Oklahoma, the school system loves to frighten children, forcing them to read about houses flying through the air, landing on witches, and tiny green people in spacecraft singing sappy songs about riddles and</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> chocolate.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Wait. What?<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFRTiaq-AI/AAAAAAAAHyo/WzMky3BVflQ/s1600-h/IMG_2449.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFRTiaq-AI/AAAAAAAAHyo/WzMky3BVflQ/s400/IMG_2449.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188517641805559810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />I don't even know what to say about this. I got nuthin'. Since I don't speak Moo, Fred and Bessie got nuthin'. So don't ask. Okay?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFPtyaq99I/AAAAAAAAHyQ/HQqT5jHzCVU/s1600-h/IMG_2435.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFPtyaq99I/AAAAAAAAHyQ/HQqT5jHzCVU/s400/IMG_2435.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188515893753870290" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We found what looked like a vast parade of Mardi Gras floats littering the tops of bookshelves. Since the bovines were unfamiliar with Mardi Gras, I gave them a brief explanation. At least, they looked puzzled about the floats. But I think they looked even MORE puzzled when I was done. What is so difficult to understand about a holiday which requires some people to dress up, ride on giant moving platforms, waving at people while throwing beads, candy and doubloons, and a crowd which presses in screaming "Throw me somethin' mister!"? Sounds kinda cool, right?<br /><br />These two might have been confused, but they didn't</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> have any trouble understanding that these floats had been built just their size. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">They walked around staring at all of them, climbing on to certain floats, probably practicing their telepathy, from the look of it. And it appears the owls are better at telepathy than the cows.<br /><br /><br />Doesn't it?</span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFP4Caq9-I/AAAAAAAAHyY/1RcML4Jom-A/s1600-h/IMG_2440.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFP4Caq9-I/AAAAAAAAHyY/1RcML4Jom-A/s400/IMG_2440.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188516069847529442" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Here we have Sir George and the Headless Dragon. Don't you remember that story? There's a headless dragon terrorizing the countryside, striking fear into the hearts of men, women and children with its fiery ... with its fiery farts. Houses are burning, haystacks going up in flames, entire cows and pigs become barbeque feasts, all because of this dragon. There's no one to save them! When suddenly! From seemingly nowhere! Sir George arrives to SLAY said dragon! His noble steed is fried to a crisp when Sir George rides up from behind, hoping</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> to take the dragon by surprise. I</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> guess he did. And if he were honest, George would admit that his suit of armor was a might toasty. But he ran beneath the dragon, piercing its soft underbelly with his sword, killing it and saving the countryside from further mayhem.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFdRSaq-EI/AAAAAAAAHzI/Ffzq_kv9C0s/s1600-h/IMG_2427.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFdRSaq-EI/AAAAAAAAHzI/Ffzq_kv9C0s/s400/IMG_2427.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188530797290387522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now this one I thought I understood until I looked at these pictures. The bovines spent the longest time enjoying this float, checking out the strange creatures here. Isn't that a beautiful pink and white kitty? I mean owl? I mean ... what the heck IS that thing? Well Fred and Bessie didn't seem to care, and it seemed friendly enough, so I'm not going to</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFfGSaq-FI/AAAAAAAAHzQ/qMfdYU8hIm4/s1600-h/IMG_2400.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFfGSaq-FI/AAAAAAAAHzQ/qMfdYU8hIm4/s400/IMG_2400.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188532807335082066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> fret over it.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br />We finally started back to the classroom, since I had work to finish and all, and none of us could resist the fish tank near the office. I wish I knew if Fred and Bessie could swim - I might have let them in to join the fish. And I'm pretty sure these two are herbivores, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Thinking about it, the holes on their backs would probably let in too much water and the cows would drown. Good thing I kept them high and dry!<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFhUyaq-HI/AAAAAAAAHzg/g7zd7MmpPjg/s1600-h/IMG_2415.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFhUyaq-HI/AAAAAAAAHzg/g7zd7MmpPjg/s400/IMG_2415.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188535255466440818" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/SAFRJCaq9_I/AAAAAAAAHyg/nSC76JJ5Rfc/s1600-h/IMG_2446.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Coming back to the classroom, I set straight to work, since that's the kind of girl I am. Hard working, naturally. I could have sworn I put Fred and Bessie in a safe place, out of reach from both the Ferret and Sir Squeaks. Up high, out of harm's way, near standard school text books and papers. Hearing a distressed moo, I turned to find they'd made their way across the shelf to Yorick's skull and didn't seem too pleased with what they'd found. When I moved them they were quiet while I finished my work. Perhaps they thought Mrs. Clark would employ some terminal punishment for misbehaving cows.</span></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Soon it was time to go home. Soon? Did I say soon?!? It's taken me three days to write about one afternoon with these two trouble makers! Not soon enough is more like it! I need a nap just writing about it!<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-61991531930154825302008-04-12T08:33:00.002-05:002008-04-12T08:38:07.833-05:00Kowz<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lookit! Lookit! Lookit! <a href="%3Ca%20href=%27http://mine.icanhascheezburger.com/view.aspx?ciid=952979%27%20%3E%3Cimg%20src=%27http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/4/11/mooovovrufu128524558548287822.jpg%27%20alt=%27funny%20pictures%27%20/%3E%3C/a%3E%3Cbr%20/%3Emoar%20%3Ca%20href=%27http://icanhascheezburger.com%27%3Efunny%20pictures%3C/a%3E">Zobabe at Next Day's News</a> has come up with even MORE of the lol kows! I love this one!<br /><br /><br /></span><a href="http://mine.icanhascheezburger.com/view.aspx?ciid=952944"><img src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/4/11/mmmurflavr128524552848912822.jpg" alt="funny pictures" /></a><br />moar <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/">funny pictures</a><br /><br />I never thought about Fred's flavor before. Or why Mr. Hamster had to keep licking, then biting him. Poor Fred. Persecuted for his taste.<br /><br />Or this one!<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://mine.icanhascheezburger.com/view.aspx?ciid=952979"><img src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/4/11/mooovovrufu128524558548287822.jpg" alt="funny pictures" /></a><br />moar <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/">funny pictures</a><br /><br />That's my kids on a trip. Ugh.<br /><br />I'll have the rest of our school trip up later today. The library was so much fun and I don't want you to miss any of it! But first, a morning meeting. On a Saturday. I know, right?<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />FleaFleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-65722052002999730372008-04-11T10:42:00.016-05:002008-04-11T11:49:30.951-05:00School is Hard Work<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Shh! Fred and Bessie are still sleeping! Their adventures yesterday wore them plumb out! The battles with giant rodents seemed to take a lot out of them, but the work they had to do was even MORE taxing!<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-HPAF_K8I/AAAAAAAAHvw/-QPAsnVr8CE/s1600-h/IMG_2349.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-HPAF_K8I/AAAAAAAAHvw/-QPAsnVr8CE/s400/IMG_2349.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188013987546999746" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Y'all know, right, that the cows can't read? My kids are so ashamed that I'm willing to be seen in public with illiterate cows. It seems the bovines are also ashamed of their lack of mad reading and writing skillz. Poor babies. See Fred here, trying his hardest to write? I don't think they even speak English, so I wouldn't know how to teach them to write, but it looks like math might be its own universal language, since Fred</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> picked up th</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">e pencil and just went to town on this workbook</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. Doesn't it</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> look like a struggle just to</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> write? And his handwriting is very poor - I couldn't make out a single equation.<br /><br /><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-J1wF_K9I/AAAAAAAAHv4/_2O780WqMEM/s1600-h/IMG_2348.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-J1wF_K9I/AAAAAAAAHv4/_2O780WqMEM/s400/IMG_2348.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188016852290186194" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I finally convinced Fred to put the pencil down - he was quite reluctant to do so - and the two wandered across the table (I was having lunch with my boy, Little Guy) to a</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Reading Comprehension practice test which someone had left. Yes, the children have big, bad standardized tests next week. Everyone has been frantically preparing for the tests, polishing skills and building their knowledge base. I walk past classrooms and hear quadratic equations being spouted by children and teachers alike, as well as</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> sentence diagramming and state</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> capitals being quoted. It's a lovely</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> place to be this time of year. *sigh</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">*</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh! The practice test! Bessie seems to be sniffing it, trying to figu</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">re out exactly what it is. Little Guy tried telling her that it was for reading, that it was a test, but she and Fred were</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> clueless. Sometimes I really wish I spoke Moo.<br /><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-LEgF_K-I/AAAAAAAAHwA/TXUFjmicgWc/s1600-h/IMG_2364.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-LEgF_K-I/AAAAAAAAHwA/TXUFjmicgWc/s400/IMG_2364.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188018205204884450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We thought that maybe reading t</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">hem the rules would</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> help, seeing as they're so eager to learn and all. When I got the bovines home, I attempted to implement some of these guidelines with them, but they kept eating the paper for their homework. I guess that when Little Guy tells his teacher that the cows ate his homework, he's not lying, huh?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Look at them, working so hard to read the p</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">os</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">ter! Hey, maybe I've been wrong all along about these two trying</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> so hard to read. Maybe they look at the p</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">aper and see food? They sure were trying to leap from their perch to get to the poster, so maybe that's why? They will NEVER learn to read and write this way! Don't they understand how important these skills are? I'm very</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> tired of having to read Captain Underpants to them</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> every night, and especially of having to do that page flippy thing all the time. It's about time they learn to do it themselves. Especially with Captain Underpants. He's funny and all, but once you've read it about 30 times, it gets old. Ya know?<br /></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-M9QF_K_I/AAAAAAAAHwI/S2CDlIA4fLU/s1600-h/IMG_2384.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-M9QF_K_I/AAAAAAAAHwI/S2CDlIA4fLU/s400/IMG_2384.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188020279674088434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">At last I was able to settle them down with a good book. Have I mentioned that they love being read to? Sure, they love humorous books, but you should have seen their eyes light up when I plopped them in front the Jaguar book! For delicate far</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">m ani</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">mals, they sure love wild predators! That's a pretty</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> intimidating picture of a jaguar, if</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> you ask me. But I read it, cover to</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> cover, and they didn't move once.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> They just mooed a little when I was</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> done, like they were kinda sad it w</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">as over. I was tempted to find another book, but it was time for me to head to Mrs. Clark's class and say goodbye to Little Guy.<br /><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-N0gF_LAI/AAAAAAAAHwQ/YHiRxMB0uI4/s1600-h/IMG_2370.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-N0gF_LAI/AAAAAAAAHwQ/YHiRxMB0uI4/s400/IMG_2370.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188021228861860866" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Throwing away our lunch trash</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> (wadding up the trash and shooting hoops from across the room is always fun when the teacher's not looking, isn't it?), our backs were turned to the cows. Maybe they thought I was ready to leave? Whatever they thought, when we turned around they were gone! Look where we</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> found them! In Little Guy's desk! Which isn't nearly as messy as I thought it would be. But look what's on top of his desk, that sneaky thing! My Far Side comic book! I wond</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">er i</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">f</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> his teacher knows he's reading that</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> when he should be doing schoolwork? And aren't Fred and Bessie cute, huddled together in there, trying to look invisible? If they just .. don't .. move ...<br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I grabbed them and put them in my purse. Lots of ugly mooing and jumping around at this point. They seemed relieved when I opened my</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> purse and they found they were still at school.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-O4AF_LBI/AAAAAAAAHwY/pasdua4W6no/s1600-h/IMG_2354.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-O4AF_LBI/AAAAAAAAHwY/pasdua4W6no/s400/IMG_2354.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188022388503030802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Remember the debacle with the ferret yesterday, their escape from my purse? I was a bad bovine mommy, leaving it open for them to look around while I worked. One of the children found them at the computers, which aren't to be used without permission from the</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> teacher. Fortunately for me, these two didn't know the password for access. Looks like they tried really hard till they were discovered. I</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> wonder, though, what they would have done had they gained access to the school's computer files. Hmmm ...<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-P-wF_LCI/AAAAAAAAHwg/tjzoRdTBN7I/s1600-h/IMG_2394.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-P-wF_LCI/AAAAAAAAHwg/tjzoRdTBN7I/s400/IMG_2394.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188023603978775586" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To keep them out of mischief, I took them with me to the media room to make copies. I considered making copies of them, since they were jumping up and down on the platen glass, mooing and begging, but I thought that maybe their little hooves would scratch the glass. That, and the machine keeps track of how many copies each person makes. How on earth would I explain copies of my bovines little rear ends and faces to the principal? How embarrassing.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-ROgF_LDI/AAAAAAAAHwo/CCwb_qtDiog/s1600-h/IMG_2413.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-ROgF_LDI/AAAAAAAAHwo/CCwb_qtDiog/s400/IMG_2413.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188024974073343026" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We left the media room to head back to the classroom, passing the office secretary on the way. The secretary was always my favorite person when I was in school. She always knew everybody and everything that was going on in</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> school, as well as all the dirt on the teachers and parents It was definitely a plus to be on her good side. This school's secretary is no different, also being one of my favorite people in the school. Ms. Sandy knows EVERYTHING. And now she knows my cows! Poor Fred and Bessie, though - they think she's a fan. They don't meet too many grown ups, understand, and they think everyone they meet reads <a href="http://thegoodflea.com/">Flea's World</a> and knows all about them. I'm just so grateful that they didn't try giving Ms. Sandy their autograph! Last time</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> they did that they left little ink hoof prints all over the room.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-SWgF_LEI/AAAAAAAAHww/ogO-oFdYqcU/s1600-h/IMG_2528.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-SWgF_LEI/AAAAAAAAHww/ogO-oFdYqcU/s400/IMG_2528.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188026211023924290" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was finally able to steer the cows away from their new friend and back to the classroom. I WAS there to work, after all. One of the students kept them busy, teaching them to write, while I was grading papers and making construction paper folders. At least, he told me he TRIED teaching them to write. Bessie was fascinated with his fingernails and wouldn't leave them alone. She kept licking his fingers, nibbling on his nails, nudging him with her muzzle. I have no idea what was up with that. Unless this poor child had butter for lunch and had gotten some under his nails. Bessie LOVES butter!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-TbAF_LFI/AAAAAAAAHw4/b8e8kB9CpKo/s1600-h/IMG_2361.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_-TbAF_LFI/AAAAAAAAHw4/b8e8kB9CpKo/s400/IMG_2361.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188027387844963410" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">They grew tired of learning to write, I guess, because the next thing I knew, the two of them were climbing on to the teacher's desk, commandeering her teacher's manual! Bad cows! How will cows, who can't read or speak English, teach an entire class of fourth graders? And teach them reading, no less? Silly cows!<br /><br />It was about that time I packed them back in my purse. But Mrs. Clark suggested I take them to the library, since they seemed to love reading and books. I'll tell you all about THAT trip tomorrow. Until then ...<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-35970638115264866832008-04-10T20:14:00.019-05:002008-04-10T21:25:28.131-05:00The Bovines Go to School<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Whew! What a day! This post will have to be in installments! Fred and Bessie decided to go to school with me this afternoon - well, they jumped in my purse when I wasn't looking and came along for the ride.<br /><br />Thursdays are long days for me, but they're my favorite days. As a stay home mom for 14 years, and especially as a home schooling mom, I was accustomed to being with children all day. But when the kids went to public school this year, I first experienced a huge sense of freedom, then withdrawals. Fortunately for me, it turns out that I don't actually need to be around my own children. Spending Thursday afternoons in Mrs. Clark's fourth grade class is just enough! I</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> volunteer, doing fun things like stuffing cubbies, creating bulleting boards and playing with the ferret.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_69vQF_KrI/AAAAAAAAHtk/XqKfebPSdiM/s1600-h/IMG_2541.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_69vQF_KrI/AAAAAAAAHtk/XqKfebPSdiM/s400/IMG_2541.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187792440248969906" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Today, while I was stuffing cubbies (no, people, I wasn't feeding</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Twinkies to Cub Scouts), the bovines squirmed out of my purse and began exploring. Furt, the ferret, was out and about, rummaging through the trash. He loves Dr. Pepper, which, coincidentally, is also Mrs. Clark's favorite drink. he also loves my lipstick and will go through my purs</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">e to find my favorite tube of Clinique. Note to self: remember to put purse on table from now on.<br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_6-7AF_KsI/AAAAAAAAHts/c1FNPCqr12g/s1600-h/IMG_2471.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_6-7AF_KsI/AAAAAAAAHts/c1FNPCqr12g/s400/IMG_2471.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187793741624060610" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It seems the cows have just enough sense to stay out of a ferret's way, but the sight of them running around was enough to start the children</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> talking and giggling, getting me in trou</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">ble. Hey! I didn't know that I had stowaways when I left the house! I really am going to have to begin locking them in the china cabinet when I leave. Before I could catch</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> those two rascals, they climbed into</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> the guinea pig's cage. Maybe they sense that I'm a littl</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">e afraid of Sir Squeaks-a-lot, since he likes to nibble fingers. Wh</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">atever it was, they wound up playing with Squeaks.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Fred, who y'all know loves to climb, was excited to scale Squeaks' house</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_6_7gF_KuI/AAAAAAAAHt8/A5_O1ATNw7I/s1600-h/IMG_2480.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_6_7gF_KuI/AAAAAAAAHt8/A5_O1ATNw7I/s400/IMG_2480.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187794849725623010" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Bessie, however, chose to meet Squeaks, beard him in his den, so to speak. Yes, I know, it looks as though he snuck up on her, but I choose to believe that she was brave and met him on her own terms. While nibbling on his apple. Maybe that wasn't so smart, huh, eating his food? Or maybe she saw how little he was compared to Furt and thought she could take him. Regardless, the</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> results weren't exactly pretty. I d</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">on't</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> think Bessie ever saw it coming.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7AqQF_KvI/AAAAAAAAHuE/ayeUyoYMYCE/s1600-h/IMG_2481.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7AqQF_KvI/AAAAAAAAHuE/ayeUyoYMYCE/s400/IMG_2481.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187795652884507378" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Brutal, huh? Squeaks was throwing</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> our cute Bessie ALL OVER that cage, picking her up by her hind legs and flipping her. It was the most horrid</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> sight, but my mortal fear of guinea</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> pigs kept me from intervening. Poor Bessie. And Fred! Don't EVEN get me started on Fred. He just stood there like a big bump on a log, watching the whole horrendous affair. Bad bull! Not standing up for your sweetie! She should drop kick his sorry self all the way back to the kitchen, let me tell you.<br /><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7BeQF_KwI/AAAAAAAAHuM/NFhPuG4Nzss/s1600-h/IMG_2497.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7BeQF_KwI/AAAAAAAAHuM/NFhPuG4Nzss/s400/IMG_2497.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187796546237704962" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Just look at him, standing there,</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> doing absolutely nothing to rescue his damsel in distress. Maybe he thinks he can bore a hole in Squeaks' head by staring intensely? Coward.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7DmgF_KyI/AAAAAAAAHuc/MOhw9iIWjvA/s1600-h/IMG_2502.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7DmgF_KyI/AAAAAAAAHuc/MOhw9iIWjvA/s400/IMG_2502.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187798886994881314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well SOMEBODY finally rescued poo</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">r Bessie, but it wasn't me! Mrs. Clark</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> to the rescue! The bovines were so excited that they leaped to her shoulders in a kind of victory parade</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Doesn't Mrs. C look a lot like Linda Carter? She must be Wonder Woman, rescuing my babies from the evil Sir Squeaks-a-lot! They rode around on her shoulders for awhile, protesting loudly when she attempted to put them down. It was the funniest little sound, their tiny moo, moo, moos! In the end she managed to set them on the floor while I graded math worksheets.<br /></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7E2AF_KzI/AAAAAAAAHuk/lFlctPL_aVQ/s1600-h/IMG_2507.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7E2AF_KzI/AAAAAAAAHuk/lFlctPL_aVQ/s400/IMG_2507.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187800252794481458" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It turns out that wasn't the greatest idea. They scampered around the room and had all the kids turning half way around in their desks, watching the two of them play. Well they ARE cute, you know! But they scampered across the hall when no one was looking, finding an open door and ducking in. Before we even knew they were gone, the teacher across the hall was screaming like a little</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> girl. It seems she wasn't expecting</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> two porcelain cows to run across her floor like little spotted mice. Think about it ... how would you react if they ran past your feet? I went</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> running next door and found Bessie in the hamster wheel, of all places.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7F-wF_K0I/AAAAAAAAHus/0PqENtV-zfg/s1600-h/IMG_2508.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7F-wF_K0I/AAAAAAAAHus/0PqENtV-zfg/s400/IMG_2508.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187801502629964610" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When I picked them up, the two struggled to jump from my hands as I passed the hamster cage. They were successful, as you can see, and managed to vault from my hands to the cage, waking the poor hamster! Doesn't he look sleepy? It took him a moment to get his bearings, to realize that there were intruders in his cage. When he finally figured</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> out what was going on, Bessie was already contentedly grazing on cedar shavings (these two have the strangest tastes!), and Fred was sniffing out the Mr. Bedhead.<br /></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7JRwF_K4I/AAAAAAAAHvM/gNhTcEdb3s8/s1600-h/IMG_2512.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7JRwF_K4I/AAAAAAAAHvM/gNhTcEdb3s8/s400/IMG_2512.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187805127582362498" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mr. Hamster was a little put out, it</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> seems, being so rudely awakened. He seems both cautious and inquisitive, does he not? Actually, he's kinda cute. No, he's downright adorable. Awww. I just wanna take him home in my pocket. If I knew he wouldn't pee in my pocket, then nibble a hole to freedom, leaving me with pee and no hamster.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7IiAF_K3I/AAAAAAAAHvE/sR3nndNT-_8/s1600-h/IMG_2523.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7IiAF_K3I/AAAAAAAAHvE/sR3nndNT-_8/s400/IMG_2523.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187804307243608946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was especially cute when Mr. Hamster gave Fred a big ol' kiss!</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Bessie's still grazing. Isn't that sweet? </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Altoge</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">ther now ... AAAWWWWW!!!<br />Well ...</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7KoAF_K5I/AAAAAAAAHvU/aWRL7_gL6CM/s1600-h/IMG_2517.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7KoAF_K5I/AAAAAAAAHvU/aWRL7_gL6CM/s400/IMG_2517.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187806609346079634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Until Mr. Hamster went all ugly on</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Fred, in his face, calling him out. Maybe he was only tasting him before? I wonder if he tastes like chicken?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7LXwF_K6I/AAAAAAAAHvc/Qo3upHvdQpk/s1600-h/IMG_2524.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_7LXwF_K6I/AAAAAAAAHvc/Qo3upHvdQpk/s400/IMG_2524.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187807429684833186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm leaving you with a final shot of Mr. Hamster as I reached in to rescue my moo moos. What an angry little face! I'm so very glad I didn't tuck this rodent in my pocket!<br /><br />More tomorrow. We've just scratched the surface of our day at school, but I need to get the wee cows to bed.<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-7808775453012472222008-04-09T14:59:00.014-05:002008-04-09T15:53:02.185-05:00Enough Outings Already!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Raise your hand if you've heard of a Brown Cow. Get 'em up, all of you who've heard of one. Come on! According to my family, a Brown Cow is just a root beer, ice cream float. It has absolutely nothing to do with today's post. You're welcome.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_0j5gF_KgI/AAAAAAAAHsM/ZO8gZdub1lk/s1600-h/IMG_2328.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_0j5gF_KgI/AAAAAAAAHsM/ZO8gZdub1lk/s400/IMG_2328.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187341816575240706" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Guess where Bessie and Fred have been? Guess! Guess! To Maybelline's guitar lesson!!! Yay! No, they weren't allowed to go in and practice, but they wandered around the shop the entire half hour, acting like bored children. The owner yelled at them when they began tap dancing on the face of this guitar. I know, right? I had NO IDEA that they could tap dance! It was so KOOL!!! </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But I guess</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> the sou</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">nd of porcelain hooves o</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">n the guitar was a little unnerving. Maybe it was that cracking sound ...<br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_0mgAF_KiI/AAAAAAAAHsc/OKzODFrRWbk/s1600-h/IMG_2301.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_0mgAF_KiI/AAAAAAAAHsc/OKzODFrRWbk/s400/IMG_2301.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187344677023459874" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We spent some time browsing after that, even though I spend half an hour there every week. The owner didn't mind their curiosity, as long as they weren't damaging his merchandise. I was a little surprised by their choices, when allowed to pick picks. Pick picks. Heh. I mean, I shouldn't have been, but Fred ... well look at it! Ew. Sometimes I'm torn between taking the bovines out more often and just leaving them home.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_0ocQF_KjI/AAAAAAAAHsk/jegVpXuOLOE/s1600-h/IMG_2313.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_0ocQF_KjI/AAAAAAAAHsk/jegVpXuOLOE/s400/IMG_2313.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187346811622206002" border="0" /></a><br />Picks are all well and good, but I guess one of the things I'm finding out about these two is that traveling works up their appetites. I was busy paying for the picks and not paying them much mind. When I turned around they were in the snacks. At 75 cents apiece, I was a little frustrated. By the time I pulled them out, they'd opened a couple of the packages and were munching away.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_0pdgF_KlI/AAAAAAAAHs0/2AYTBe88LiM/s1600-h/IMG_2311.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_0pdgF_KlI/AAAAAAAAHs0/2AYTBe88LiM/s400/IMG_2311.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187347932608670290" border="0" /></a>So I had to fish out MORE money, paying for their lack of self-control, but this time I took them to the counter with me. Hah! Except, while I was digging around in my purse for loose change (always difficult to find), these two goobers we working their way down the OTHER side of the counter! They made their way into the open display case to get a better look at the ukulele we'd seen when coming into the store. They'd been practically jumping out of my hands earlier when I'd bent down to show it to them, so I guess they were pretty stoked about it. Obviously. Look at them! They're practically <span style="font-style: italic;">drooling</span> over it! I can't tell you how profusely I had to apologize for this. See if I take them anywhere again ...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_0sFQF_KmI/AAAAAAAAHs8/1YaMEihmW_M/s1600-h/IMG_2331.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_0sFQF_KmI/AAAAAAAAHs8/1YaMEihmW_M/s400/IMG_2331.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187350814531725922" border="0" /></a><br />I considered talking to the owner and asking if he needed mascots for his shop, when I remembered that Buster, here, is the shop mascot. Isn't he the most adorable thing? One of these days I'm going to buy one of these t-shirts. I wonder if they come in Kow size ...<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />FleaFleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590194915288721948.post-10176820449808140802008-04-08T18:21:00.009-05:002008-04-08T19:18:44.406-05:00Seeing Eye Cows<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As Bessie's wont to say, Holy Pie! What a day! It started at 3 AM, with a hail storm, of all things. The bovines slept through it. They were the only ones in town who did. Golf ball sized hail, people! Cars all over town look dimpled, poor things. It seems the Hunny's roof wasn't spared the dimples like we thought.<br /><br />Once we got up again (it was a long night), Fred and Bessie accompanied me to the optometrist! I went in for the one week check up on my contacts. After the extensive exams I had a couple of weeks ago, I was really hoping that this would be my one and only pair. Alas, it was not to be. The left one actually jumped out of my eye on Saturday while climbing. Just said, "I'm outta here!" and leaped! And my vision has been all "swimmy" all week. She's ordering another pair. I love my eye doctor. Both of them.<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_v_sZiyhgI/AAAAAAAAHrU/2IV6F4U-EQM/s1600-h/IMG_2219.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_v_sZiyhgI/AAAAAAAAHrU/2IV6F4U-EQM/s400/IMG_2219.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187020534083388930" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One reason I love her so is that her</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> staff, whom I love equally as much</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> *mwah*, let the bovines wander</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> around the office. I'm sure they don't let small children wander the way they did the cows. But before they wandered, they had to be told the rules. The joke was on the staff, though. The bovines can't read! Ha! That didn't seem to stop them from trying though!<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_wADZiyhhI/AAAAAAAAHrc/psJCL2oyrdE/s1600-h/IMG_2220.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_wADZiyhhI/AAAAAAAAHrc/psJCL2oyrdE/s400/IMG_2220.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187020929220380178" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The two seemed drawn to this woman who was blowing them kisses. Well ... Fred is checking out the glasses. I think they're a little big for him. We tried them on but they didn't fit so well.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_wGTpiyhiI/AAAAAAAAHrk/uUT4nCIns10/s1600-h/IMG_2227.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_wGTpiyhiI/AAAAAAAAHrk/uUT4nCIns10/s400/IMG_2227.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187027805463021090" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I had no idea Bessie was such a girly girl. I guess the flowered collar should have been a give away, but seriously! She <a href="http://thegoodflea.com/2008/03/what-day.html">climbs</a>, she's been</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> <a href="http://thegoodflea.com/2008/02/fred-and-bessies-list.html">thrown in jail</a>, she gets all <a href="http://thegoodflea.com/2008/03/feast.html">messy with crawfish</a> and she licks the butter, for Pete's sake! Shh! She</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> doesn't know that I know about the butter.<br /><br />But here's the proof: she's posing with the pink Candies! Rather fetching, isn't it, pink on Bessie? I think I like her girly.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_wI-piyhjI/AAAAAAAAHrs/s1U5wcCe3es/s1600-h/IMG_2230.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_wI-piyhjI/AAAAAAAAHrs/s1U5wcCe3es/s400/IMG_2230.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187030743220651570" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Of course Fred had to get his macho self in on the action. Personally, I was pleased with the backdrop, but I think he's sending mixed messages. The poor bull doesn't know which end is up.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_wJd5iyhkI/AAAAAAAAHr0/dHXItzH1DBc/s1600-h/IMG_2225.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_wJd5iyhkI/AAAAAAAAHr0/dHXItzH1DBc/s400/IMG_2225.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187031280091563586" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He and Bessie seemed to like the mirror the most. In fact, I practically had to peel the two of them away. The kind lady who always remembers my name and the children's came in to fit someone for frames and needed the mirror, but it practically took an act of congress to convince these two that it wasn't designed</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> specifically for them! Vanity, thy name is Kow. They do make a handsome couple, but they need to learn a little self control. You'd think they'd never seen a mirror! Wait ... I don't think they have ...<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_wKbpiyhlI/AAAAAAAAHr8/aL9CeJdvNCM/s1600-h/IMG_2238.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b3bdUZRr8jU/R_wKbpiyhlI/AAAAAAAAHr8/aL9CeJdvNCM/s400/IMG_2238.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187032340948485714" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We finally made it out of the frame room and back to the receptionist's desk, where the nice lady waited for the cows. Alright, she was really waiting for me, but Fred and Bessie don't know that, so just hush. They think she's a fan!<br /><br />So there's our day out and about. The bovines seem to be getting the hang of traveling and I've found them more than once <a href="http://thegoodflea.com/2008/03/what-am-i-going-to-do-with-these-two.html">waiting by the door</a>. They're worse than the dogs! We'll see what adventures await tomorrow!<br /><br />Moo to You!<br /><br />Flea<br /></span>Fleahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03412755038083750088noreply@blogger.com