Before launching into my snow story it's abundantly necessary to clear up a preference for my home state. Someone somewhere decided that those who reside in Michigan should be labeled as "Michiganders". I clearly prefer the term "Michiganians". So although I'll be crossing the line of politically correct nomenclature, here goes.
Most of us Michiganians feel Christmas isn't Christmas without snow. We had snow, lost snow, and then miraculously (thank you Nature) got snow for Christmas. I was happy, the dogs were happy, the donkeys were happy. But the chickens were not. Outvoted again.
A not uncommon scene with Luigi and Fran eating together on the left and Sugar and Spice on the right
Last night we lost the snow with a light rain. Which froze. Leaving a nicely glazed very slick driveway. You've got to be kidding me. Get out the cleats in December?? That's usually a dreaded February occurrence. I now get to add time onto the already protracted suiting up process by having to add the cleats and then mince up the driveway always checking for the clearest path.
It does not matter which pair of knee socks I put on, by the time I'm halfway through chores, they have slid down off my feet. This happens e.v.e.r.y day, three times a day.
Rick lent/gave me two pair of his dorky white socks and, you know what? They stay up. Enough! It is now settled. I will not be wearing the pretty women's socks but will wear the dorky geeky socks. Another example of gender discrepancy.
And then we turn to the hens. I see gorgeous close-up shots of chickens on social media and say, I can do that. Well, I can't. Uncooperative girls.
This is an example of a recent photo shoot.
See any sharp close-ups? No, neither do I.