Here's my man, pretending to cough up a hairball in order to offer Sugar moral support. Misery loves company. Ain't hairballs the sexiest?My sweet pea and my boy had "Star Day" at school. My gal was a famous ballerina whose name I can't remember, and my boy was the Jewish Woody Guthrie, although his tzit tzit aren't that noticeable in the picture and his yarmulke is covered by the hat.
My gal was also inducted into one of her three religious youth groups. It was a really nice ceremony type thing, sort of. Except I've been calling it an anti-religious group, because the induction was on the sabbath.These are the non-chicken hotels:
I'd been calling them chicken hotels, because look at the three story high itty bitty windows. I figured it must be something alive in there to require windows, and what live animal could be stacked three stories high like that?
Except the Guy suspected holes in my deductive reasoning powers. He thought cattle was a more likely inhabitant. So we emailed three of the pictures older gal took to someone the guy knows who knows about trains. And he emailed someone else, who emailed yet another train expert.
Alas and alack it turns out that they are not chicken hotels but articulated auto carriers, mostly used by Honda and Nissan.
It's not as boring as it sounds though. Because the itty bitty windows are not so the chickens can have a beautiful view, but so the drivers of the automobiles can exit the train cars. It's a tight squeeze in there, apparently.
So that's been what we've been up to here at Ranch Twipply Skwood. Photographing non-chicken hotels, coughing up hairballs and the like. Hope everyone has had a good week!