Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. -- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
Frankie and Slim
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Favoritism
Tonight I could not take my eyes off the baby Araucanas. They are adapting quite well to their chicken home. They are so pretty. Lily is practically all white and she is a big girl. The Noble Davies look like my mother wove their feather colors on her loom. I was telling them that tonight as I photographed them. Ron was listening to me and told me I was hurting the feelings of the teenagers (The Australorps and the Rhode Island Reds). I apologized and took lots of pictures of them also. But the babies should be spoilied -- isn't that right?
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