under pressure

My mother called a few weeks ago to announce that I would be receiving a package. She had seen an ad for the Wolfgang Puck Pressure Cooker and decided it was the perfect cure to my ovenless condition. I love to cook. I love to cook almost more than I love to eat... almost. So when we moved in and the stovetop but not the oven worked it was kind of a dilemma. Do we just go get something that will fit? Or do we deal with it, wait for the remodel and get our DREAM range? The decision just kind of made itself because between the crockpot, a wonderful bread maker and twenty other appliances that had been dustcatchers in my last kitchen, I was keeping us more than fed. Okay, so a pressure cooker? My only experience with the pressure cooker was as thriftstore shwag and scary flan explosion stories from the olden days.

I LOVE pressure cooker! How did it ever get usurped by the microwave?!? Let's see... did you wan't that six minute chicken fall off the bone, melt in your face fantastic or rubber? I've made perfect beans, tender goose (pic) and a rabbit fricassee that... well, no words. I'm still learning to adjust my spices, less is more, but it seems one could put a dirty gym sock in there and end up with something at least not bad. Thanks Mom, sorry I ever refudiated [sic] you!


We called in reinforcements from the neighborhood to our spapper battle. This is Chase and Ramon and after seeing the size of the turtle that got our goose they did what every boy should. They went to the dollar store, got nets and have been stalking around the pond for two straight days. Nothing yet, but if was a snapper I'd make myself scarce.

homeless rabbit

We live in a neighborhood. We know this because when we had to pick up our new rabbit hutch, Frank (from across the street) lent us his truck. Have I mentioned that we only moved in a few months ago? Way cool. The truck, unfortunately, has been the only good thing about this **** *** ******* *** hutch.

I first saw it at Southern States while buying feed. They had gotten a great deal, the clerk told me, and were passing it on to the customer. I'd been looking for a hutch and $90 for a double is a pretty great deal. Even the homemade (nothing against it, LOVE homemade), well used ones on craigslist are rarely under $150. So taking this as a sign that my future rabbitry was already being showered with cosmic gifts, I said, SOLD. Then my debit card was denied. Bank error of course. But, being the kind, down home store that they are, SS took my name and number promising to hold it for me. Perfect. I even had enough cash for the other stuff, no problem, I'd just straighten everything out and come back the next day.

Three days later, now actually rabbit owners, Tim and I make it back and ask for the hutch that's been held for us. And they say, SOLD. As in sold out. Though they did have a different, smaller model for $120. Funny, because the one that I wanted was just sitting there, already assembled, but had been sold to an employee. I must have looked a little desperate, because they all went into a huddle and then said they worked it out and I could have it. Feeling like a jerk, I said, SOLD and bought it. Now, a ford focus hatchback is a wonderful thing. We have put 200 feet of fence, four goats and a greenhouse in our hatchback, not simultaneously, but still. Alas, it finally met it's match with this ****** **** rabbit hutch. To disassemble it would take forever. uhg. They promise to hold it again.

Okay, no big thing. Frank, I know, goes to Southern States all the time for feed. He's nice enough, surely he wouldn't mind hauling it home for us. He was even nicer still. Two days later we're back and fifteen minutes after that we have four bails of hay ('cause, yeah.. TRUCK!) and the beautiful wonderful hutch and we're finally heading home.

We were six blocks from the store when Tim gasped... I knew, I didn't turn around, but I knew.


He says it could have been a scene from Twister, if only it had done a crazy flip or two. Instead it shattered like a soft shelled egg when hit the pavement. LUCKILY!!! there were no cars behind us. SS had loaded the **** ***** **** **** hutch for us and neither of us realized how light it was until we were picking up the pieces (all of which could easily have fit in a hatchback). Still, we know better and should have tied it down...

So, the bunny we can't eat and her umbilicle hernia are still living in a pet taxi and I'm wondering if I believe in signs. Stupid cosmos.