Sammy has now been with us long enough that I would not want to imagine life without her. She came as Sambuca and is now Sam, Samantha, SAMUEL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?, Sammy, and Blackie the Ottoman-Shaped Dog.
In all the time she’s been here, I have never once seen her lie down on the floor. She’ll hop lightly up onto a bed, and then curl up around your knee for just long enough to fool you into dozing. Then into your dreams will come an odd groaning snarfle and the overwhelming smell of corn chips as she shoves you over on your pillow and smashes her body around your head. If you dare to move, a paw will press itself against your eye and she’ll start licking your forehead until you submit and lie back down again; then she’ll snurfmoan at you approvingly and close her eyes. Pretty soon her head will fall back and an awful whistling snore will make its way around her lips, interrupted only by bouts of sneezing when it’s so loud that she wakes herself up.
The fact that we fight over who gets to sleep with Sammy should tell you exactly how much we love her. Because wow.
In other news, one of our roosters appears to be playing for the other team. He is a lovely Easter Egger boy who was actually a gift to us, and after seeing how well he did out in the mixed group, where Big Bottom the Jersey Giant rooster reigns supreme, and remarking at how how polite and kind he was, we decided to give him his own group of hens. So Molly and Polly, our black Ameraucanas, joined him in wedded bliss. Unfortunately, that bliss consists of him sitting on their sectional and giving them fashion advice and telling them to look at their choices. Molly and Polly are laying like gangbusters and not a single egg is fertile. And I keep catching him staring longingly at Big Bottom…