Babies, babies, babies

That’s what’s been going on around here lately.

This sad baby got sick or something and was abandoned by her mother.  Poor thing spent the weekend in the vet clinic and is now home for us to look after.  She takes a bottle with a lot of help from us and sometimes, like in this photo, looks like she’s about to give up.  At the last check though she was holding her head up and looked quite content.  Morning will tell.

These little ladies were a gift to Henley from her grandparents.  They just graduated from my laundry room (Hallelujah!!!) to the big coop outside.  We love watching them scurry around outside and explore our yard.  Who knew chickens could be so entertaining?

I had my ultrasound today to check in on our little one and guess what…it’s a GIRL!  Go figure, since every other infant creature around this place is female. Henley is simply thrilled to be having a baby sister!  Baby Hawkins looks healthy and perfectly formed.  Now Mr. Rancher and I can really start fighting over what to name the newest member of our little family.

All I’m trying to say is: the names he dreams up are totally and completely and undeniably awful.  No way, no how am I going to saddle a poor, innocent child with his suggestions.  Naturally, Ty has to object to every single normal name I throw out, just as a matter of principle.  Clearly we have a very mature and mutually understanding relationship based on compromise and patient deliberation of important matters.

We are all so stinkin’ happy about the beautiful spring weather.  Thanks to the calf and the chicks, we spent most of the day outside, and even though the evidence of dirty playing showed up in Henley’s brown bath water, I am so happy she can be outside again!   She would dart from her trampoline to the calf’s box to the chicken coop back to the pots she was filling with water and begin all over again.  I did my best to convince her to keep her shoes on her little feet and to wash her hands after touching any of the animals.  It’s no wonder kids who grow up on farms develop fewer allergies, for goodness sakes the darn whippersnappers are kissing, hugging, and petting the animals every chance they get regardless of whether string cheese or graham crackers happen to be in their hands at the same time!

Seriously though, her bath water was as brown as a mud puddle.

 

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