Archive for the ‘Pawnee Kitty and Angus’ Category

Dear Hamish,

Thank you for the link to the music site. I listen to it as I build me crofts. I was sorry to hear about the scones Heather gave you. Maybe next time you can say you just ate and set it aside. They’ll never soften. I used one as a decorative stone in an advertisement photo for me crofts and someone bought it.
Yesterday I was getting ready for a daytrip, going through me photos on me mobile to see which I could delete and make room for new piccies, I found photo after photo of Penny, the cat. I went to Pawnee.
“You used me mobile.”
Pawnee scurries off.
“You used me mobile! You nea asked me to use it.”
Pawnee hides, but the tip of an ear is showing.
“Deleting.” I poise me hoof over the screen.
“You can’t.” Pawnee is there. She presses her paws together. “They’re of Penny. You know I love Penny.”
“I also know ye have your own mobile. Deleting.”
“Noooooo. Send them to me. Please. Everyone loves Penny pictures.”
Pawnee’s people already have a Penny fan club. Several.
“Fine.” I start sending them. And sending them. And sending them. “How many did you make?”
“Oooo, that’s a good one. I dunno.”
“Did you use me whole card?”
“Ooooo. That’s even better.”
She used nearly me whole card. On Penny. I’m locking me phone now. I’m sure in a month she’ll know the password, but I’ll at least have a bit of time with no Penny pictures.
I’d send you one, but won’t in case someone sees the kitty.

Still deleting,
From the colonies,
cat furred covered,
Angus. McSheep.


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Aud read a book about the Mississippi. Some story about someone, blah, blah, blah. But it was the whole Mississippi thing that got my attention because it made me remember Angus’ first time seeing it.
See, Aud went on vacation to Arkansas. She’d never been there before and wanted to visit a few national parks and tick another state off her list. We, me and Angus, tagged along. As we got closer to the river, Angus began eyeballing the countryside. We’d gone off the interstate and were on some big road. It went past Jim Henson’s (of Muppet fame) birthplace.

“Is that the grand river Mississippi?” Angus pointed with a hoof.
“No. It’s some creek.”
“Nay, For sure not. I’ve seen plenty of rivers as big.”
In England, and Scotland, everything with water seems to be a river. I’ve seen a river there that barely qualified as a trickle here.
“It’s huge. Hugemongus. You can’t miss it.”
“I’m not missing that. That is the grand River Mississippi.” Angus admires another waterway.
“That’s a stream.”
Angus has to confer with Aud who says, yes, it is a stream.
“It’s ginormous, Angus. Believe, you’ll know when you see it.”
Apparently not.
“That, that is the grand River Mississippi.” He points a hoof. The stream is only a few feet wide.
“Nay? How can that be?”
“You’ll see.”
We drive on. Of course it has to be overcast and someone rainy, but it’s clearing. Kinda. And then we reach the river.
“A loch.” A loch is a lake is Angus talk.
“That,” I tell him, “is the Mississippi.”
Angus is truly gobsmacked. So much so, I have to take the pictures for him.
“Nay, ’tis too, too wide. Surely it empties into the Gulf here.”
“But it is. And the Mississippi Delta is like a good hundred plus miles south. Where we’re camping tonight is on an ox-bow lake, part of what was the Mississippi river.”
Of course, Angus has to have all the explained to him and he needs maps and pictures, and diagrams. But Aud does that all at the campground where he admires the lake, the loch, from the fishing pier, taking video to send home and post on the sheep YouTube channel.

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Dear Hamish,

Thank you for the prompt reply in regards to the bagpipes. I have them. And no, I will not be learning how to play them. More on that in a bit. I was sorry to hear the twins practiced their first aide skills on your and put a potent glue in the plaster mix. I hope you’ve been able to chip your hooves out it by now. Thankfully they only did your hind hooves. I told them there’d be no prezzies for their birthdays if they continue to abuse you.

Back to the bagpipes.

I got them. Pawnee was all nosy when they arrive. She wanted to blow into the canter. I took it away and stomped on a paw. Sometimes one has to be harsh.

“Nay,” I said. “‘Tis me security system.”

“How?” she asked as that dreadful Penny crept closer.

It’s because of the kitty, the nonPawnee Kitty kitty, I got this you know. She loves me wool and sees me as a toy. She doesn’t even listen to Pawnee and all the cats around here does what she says. These Texan kitties are bold.

“I’ll show you.” With that I primed up the bagpipes. Gave a few good squeezes, music spiraling out. Pawnee winced. Penny skipped back a few hops.

I blew. Then, marching, and playing what I remember from school, I headed out to the middle of the room. Penny ran away. Pawnee ran away. It was lovely.

Now I can go wherever I want. Now all I have to do is reach a hoof to me bagpipes and Penny runs off, ears low while Pawnee cringes and squishes her ears and eyes shut. I really should have thought of this sooner.

Thank you again,

your friend in the colonies,

Angus. McSheep.

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Dear Hamish,

Thank you for the prezzie! ‘Tis bonney!!! A football signed by the great ‘Smasher’ Hoof. I have put it in view and safe away from paws of all shapes and sizes. I am sorry to hear about the Christmas cracker. Who knew they could explode in one’s face like that. I hope your nose is better now after being singed. And you’re correct, ‘tis reasonable to think the twins were behind this.

Now, me Christmas. I got plenty of food items including hay, oats, grains and the like. All very tasty. The twins knitted me a tam with Christmas trees on it and some things I canna tell what. They are either knots or Christmas lights. Heather’s side came out better then Peat’s, as you can see by the photo I sent. I don’t know what the strings are for or the white dots. ‘Tis a bit small and once I get me horns, I won’t be able to wear it anymore. I hope to grow me horns very soon, but so far there’s nary a bump or an itch on the top of me head. I worry sometimes I’ll never get them and then where will all the potential sweeties go? No ewe wants a ram with no horns.

Pawnee Kitty’s bunch came to spend the holidays or whatever. They don’t really celebrate, but enjoy the goings-on. Me one foot rule is working although waking up and finding them sitting close by, staring at me, purring, is a bit unnerving. They pat their paws together and hug themselves as if hugging me.

I was glad when they wandered off to wherever they live, only I still had to contend with Pawnee Kitty. She launched me into the Christmas tree. As I dangled there from a limb, she tossed tinsels and ornaments at me yelling: Don’t let it drop! I’ll be right there! Hey, you dropped some tinsel! Like sheep climb ‘round trees as if we’re monkeys. Me mood dinna got better when she smelled food and hurried off to get her share and then forgot about me. For hours. The person had to rescue me. If the tree had been real and not a fake one, I may have had to eat part of it.

That’s is all for now. Me scones are done and I wish to partake, besides the smells attract Pawnee.

Your friend,

Angus. McSheep.

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Letter to Family – Thank You Christmas 2018

Dear Da, Ma, and the twins,

I wish to thank you for all the well wishes and prezzies you have sent. Ye dinna have to as postage is nae cheap, but I do appreciate it and am glad for all especially the sweets. One canna get them here. Here, they have sugar in them and are unhealthy for me wool, teeth, and insides.

The bow tie fits quite well. I put it on right away and think I am quite handsome with it. See Hamish for a picture. I am also wearing me Christmas tam the twins knitted. It is quite smart especially when one considers they worked on it together, at the same time. I will wear the Christmas tam all through the season.

I had me a fine Christmas, tho’ I did miss me family. I listened to baas and saw several Shaun the Sheep episodes, just like at home. There are no sheep close by so I couldna visit them. I did have photos of you around me.

The person with whom I share a space let me celebrate with her family. I helped decorate the tree and got a Christmas plate of hay, oats, and wheat, and other grasses and grains. They were tasty. There was even mountain hay, but not from Scotland. It is not as sweet.

Thank you again. I look forward to our New Year’s telephone call. You can tell me what the Queen said.

Your son and brother,

Angus. McSheep. (Wee Angus)

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Dear Hamish,

Thank you for the pictures. It is always nice to see the pasture and all the familiar faces. I am sorry to hear about the extra sour pickle you bit into. The twins, who are no doubt responsible since no one else ate a sour pickle, were coated in brine sauce. Me Grandmums, both, had to take them home and wash and wring them out. One can only hope they learned a lesson.

Your pickle story reminded me of a pleasant memory. It actually started with me calling Pawnee a picklehead. The silly ewe thought it was a complement even though she doesna eat pickles. She thinks I adore pickles. I was thinking of the hot stuff pickles floating in brine in their own individual pickle bags at the grocers. As if I would ever eat that.

It brought back memories of Pickle Day in the pasture. Remember, how we waited, and then danced about when eight to twelve sheep carried the pickle to the pasture. We lambs would crowd around, watching, waiting with excitement, our eyes trained on the pickle glistening with drops of water after having the brine washed away.

‘Twas almost as good as Cucumber Day.

Then your da and his mates would come to saw slices off the pickle. As if it were the logs they sawed, aye. When each disc fell from the main piece, it’d be distributed, first to the grandmums and granddas and then to the wee lambs.

Pickle Day.

Gets me right in the mood for a pickle.

Must go and find one now,

Yours, from the Colonies

Angus. McSheep.

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Dear Hamish,

Happy December to you. I enjoyed talking to you on the mobile and hearing all the latest news. I hope Fat Malcolm gets over his foot rot soon. It sends shiver down me wool to hear of that. Then again, only he would stand out in the rain and in a puddle. I was sorry to hear about your poor burnt tail. Luckily there was the puddle near by for you to sit in. The twins were awfully quiet when I called me Mum. I’m sure it was them.

So, we had a holiday here, aye. Thanksgiving. It makes me legs go all wobbly thinking on how the colonists delight at the slaughter of millions of turkey. At expressing my disgust of this barbaric practice, Pawnee Kitty, the lover of all things turkey, said she’d skip turkey for the holiday. I didn’t believe her one minute.

Of course a day later, I realized that she doesn’t even consider Thanksgiving a holiday especially since it celebrates the arrival of ComeOvers. Her kind call all but American Indians (Native Americans), ComeOvers. It’s derived from ‘They came over by boat’. Which should really make it CameOvers, but I won’t debate the intricacies of the English language with her anymore. She says I should be happy she even speaks a foreign language. I’d be happy if she didn’t and stayed out on the prairie.

Pawnee asked me if I wanted to visit some turkeys. I had me doubts on that. Turkeys are larger than chickens and you know how they can be.

We’ll be far enough away? I asked.
Turkeys won’t hurt you, she said.

I youtubed turkeys and what I saw, Hamish. It’s enough to make the quality of one’s wool go bad. There are turkey gangs that terrorize whole neighborhoods! Aye. Even the postman won’t come and deliver mail. People run off in their motorcars to get away.

I went to find Pawnee right away to say: I will not go with you to see a turkey. They are violent. They have gangs!
Oh, you saw those videos too? Aren’t they great?

I am wondering if we saw the same videos. Knowing Pawnee Kitty, we have.

They’ll run me over and peck me to death and nibble on me poor body. I’ll nae see a live turkey, I tell her. In the end, I go off to see a movie to calm me nerves. Then I watch me some ‘Life in the Pasture’ videos. When you are here, we’ll see them all. We’ll binge watch.

Another happy December to you,

From the colonies,

Angus. McSheep.

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