The Beasts Are Very Wise

The beasts are very wise,
Their mouths are clean of lies ; 
They talk one to the other, 
Bullock to bullock's brother,
Resting after their labors,
Each in stall with his neighbours. 
But man with goad and whip, 
Breaks up their fellowship,
Shouts in their silky ears 
Filling their souls with fears. 
When he has tilled the land 
He says, 'They understand.'
But the beasts in stall together, 
Freed from yoke and tether, 
Say, as the torn flanks smoke,
'Nay, 'twas the whip that spoke.' 

I heard this poem by Rudyard Kipling when I watched The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. A member of their reading group, a little boy, read it aloud at their meeting.

Ned is one of our beasts. He loaned his black collar to Baby, and like most girlfriends, she kept his clothes. Finally Adam found an old pink collar somewhere on the farm. We think Ned is manly enough to wear pink well.

 This morning I went to let my chickens out of the coop, and this little girl didn't come out -- meaning, she didn't go into the coop last night. Meaning something probably ate her for lunch yesterday.

I hadn't yet given her a name.

 The smaller chick is still around. These things happen when you keep chickens.

Adam continues his gingerbread cookie trials. He thinks he's finally mastered it!

 He finally rejected the Williamsburg cookie recipe; he instead opted for a gingerbread cake batter, and added just enough flour to make a wet cookie. Perfect! They were delicious. He took them to share around at the blood drive on Friday.
Inside of the cookie:

 He feeds me such delicious dinners. Here are Mexican fried tacos: meat and cheese on the inside, pan fried and drained, with guacamole and tomatoes and lettuce.

Do you like that Kipling poem? It makes one think, doesn't it?