Declaration

Our youngest writes:

"Declaration of indapendence.  I should be indapendent of...
having a hamser
waking up whenever I want
eating spagehti
eating cassarole".

She tore it straight in half when her father went to talk with her about her "declarations".  Apparently it was for her eyes only. 

We are reluctantly gearing up for the addition of three new pets this weekend, as if the current wildlife isn't entertaining enough.  Yesterday my husband found a well worked-over dead oppossum hidden under the butterfly bush in the backyard which would explain the rank smell on the border collie for the past several days (and the slimy ick to boot).  He also nearly escaped a dive-bombing attack by one of the white roosters who reportedly came flying at him from 10 feet above, wings spread, jaws agape, squawking, talons at the ready while on the tractor cutting grass near the coop.  He screamed (I guess boys don't scream, they yell), swerved and batted it away.  No, we haven't had Sunday dinner with the rest yet.  One thing at a time, or make that fifty that stand in the way of us and rooster neck-wringing.

The sixteen year old cat is failing.  Her loud meowing throughout the house at four a.m. is not pleasant, nor are the little packages she's been leaving about.  I just hope she doesn't mess with a hamster, gerbil or fish, or whatever else comes home.  She's about one of the few things that can scare the roosters, all six-and-a-half pounds of her declawed, nearly toothless self.

But the kids are focused, they need pets, they argue.  They have researched, they have cleaned rooms and spaces for cages, they have vowed to be religious caretakers.  We have agreed to give it a go.  I'm exhausted.