Momma gets to keep her hens. The rooster has a new home, free range, they call it, except all the chickens go into their house at night.  Raccoon prowl, not if Bear, my house mate, was there. He would tell them a thing or two. He is big. Not me, I wouldn't tangle with a raccoon. Squirrels are more my size, and they don't have hands.

I'm stuffed on turkey. You wouldn't believe the smells that wafted through the house last Thursday, they kept me salivating for three days.

Live long, prosper, keep the faith--what does that mean? Whatever you want it to, to not give up, to aim for happiness, to believe in the goodness of life and all the creatures, to follow you dreams, your bliss, and your dog--he/she will not steer you wrong.

Bye bye, see ya later.

Hello again

It's me, Peaches the supporter for Mom who has been upset over her chickens. A neighbor complained, and she may not get to keep them. Chickens are all right I guess. I like egg yolks--cooked of course. The whites? Yuck! Scrambled eggs are yummy if you mix them up really good.

I'm curious to see if mom gets to keep her chickens. You hear about backyard chickens a lot, and you would think, this being a rather rural community, that chickens would be allowed, but it appears that the city has an ordinance against them.  We didn't intend to get a rooster, sorry, but the hens, they ought to stay.

Have you seen the little chicken house? It's not offensive.

Kitchen window view--I saw it once when momma gave me a bath in the sink. Yuck.


Look at this, maybe someday...Wow!

P.S.  A lady not far away has agreed to see if the rooster will fit into her flock. Crossed paws!

A Champion of the Animals

Life is a great big canvas and you should throw all the paint on it you can. --Danny Kaye

Perhaps this is one kiss you don't need.

I Peaches am dog, and an anonymous somebody, kind soul that they were, said they were happy I’m  back blogging, so, I owe it to them to post, to pontificate, to spread my word.

We watched a video last night called Dolphins. Did you know that they are the only animals besides people who call each other by name? And they name themselves—something people do not do on a regular basis. Oh, I know a few people who do. Little Boy Darling is Meowy right now, sometimes Meowy is a cat, other times he something else. Last night he was a spider.

So here I am. I choose to come into this life-time as a poodle dog, and I am colored like a peach, so that fits. I do have a chronic condition. I don’t know if I knew that when I decided to enter this cute little body, but we manage.  I choose Momma to help me. She and Daughter Dear give me fluids every night. I’ve been stuck with a needle more times than  Momma washes dishes, and here I am with a voice.

I believe I ought to champion the cause of animals…

“I think I could turn and live with the animals, they are so placid and self contained;
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition;
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins;
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God;
Not one is dissatisfied-not one is demented with the mania of owning things;
Not one kneels to another, nor his kind that lived thousands of years ago.

Walt Whitman wrote that.

Some animals are wild—like the dolphins, and people ought to see that they are protected from fishing nets , and that their ocean stays pure.  Some are wild like the horse, and they ought not to be sold for dog  food, Ugg, Never will my lips touch horse meat. And then there are many many other wild things, the wild pigs of Hawaii, the mongooses, and here in Oregon there is a symphony of the wild in the forests. Love, love, love it.

And dogs? Well, we love humans, and cars and soft beds, and while I used to chase the lizards of California, I do not see many here in Oregon. Chasing a frog? Naugh, why bother. Occasionally a stranger cat will wander into our yard—now that’s fun.

Here is a success story:

Amazing Grace at rescue facility:

Amazing Grace at Parelli Summit:

I'm Back--Still Meditating

Momma told me that bloggers who don’t post regularly are forgotten.

Me? Forgotten!

I can’t let that happen.

I am Peaches, the Pink Party Poodle for Peace. I have to speak my word. I would have spoken earlier but my secretary has been asleep at the switch, and I’ve been asleep on the bed—or in the bookcase. Meditating that is.

They say that getting in the Zone makes for a happy life. Sleep more. Don’t stress out. Go with Mom in the truck--my favorite most activity of the day. Except that yesterday I had a bath first, and I jumped into the truck sopping wet. The car heater dried me, and then I rode with the wind, listened to thundering hoof beats in my head, and slept, and dreamed of a beautiful tomorrow.

It was fun last night when the trick’er’ treaters came to our house--the doorbell would ring, I would bark, that set off Bear, he would bark, Little Boy Darling would run to the door, and open it to  the weirdest kids I had ever seen in my life. They said I looked cute though, so it was okay. They took candy and left.

And you know what?

Momma just ate the last candy bar.

P.S. You've heard of "Bad Piggies?" Well they hit our house.

I retreated.

Peaches' Picks

I feel comfortable here now. For awhile I was sad, so sad if mom left in the car without me. After being with her in the truck for four days, going into hotels together, staying in a hotel once we arrived in Eugene, and even staying with Auntie Lisa, for awhile, I believed my place was beside mom.

She tells me it is sometimes too hot in the car for me, but when I'm in the car it feels perfect. I don't know what she is talking about. HOT? Mom, its not hot.

Oh, it's when she is gone and the car isn't running. Now I get it.

Okay, I will stay at home sometimes, but only if I have to.

I've been pinteresting with the other pinners. Here are some of my favorites:

Dental exam

Best bed ever.

Best perch ever.

Dangerous pit bull.

When Mom first got me she had a Rottweiler named Gabe and he laid beside the bed, a foot stool so I could get on the bed. Mom said he lived longer because he had a good job.

A New Home--Same People, Different House

Looks like me when I was a young squirt, I was a little bigger and a little creamer in color, but just as cute.

I haven’t written for a while because it has been in turmoil around here. I haven’t let it upset me too much though—as long as I am with Mom everything is ship-shape.

We moved—that was fun. Not so much for Daughter Dear and Mom, but Bear and I settled into the truck, with a cat crawling over us, and Little Boy Darling strapped into his car seat beside Bear and we made it from California to Oregon—took us four days. Hotels are fun. We sniff for evidence of other dogs that have left behind scents—you wouldn’t believe—the world is one big smell fest.

And then in Oregon we looked for houses and stayed with Daughter and Natasha her dog who runs over me—hey, I’m a little dog and not too fast on my feet.  Handy that I’m a small dog—in the truck I can nestle down between Daughter Dear, lay my head on Mom’s thigh, and the world slips by until a McDonald’s sign flashes past my vision and I send psychic signals to mom to stop. McDonald’s has the best water, and if I ask really nice I get a hamburger or a chicken fillet.

We found a lovely house where the frog’s sing at night. (No lizards though.) We’re  settled in.

So now, what’s next?!!!