Everybody has been asking about my jackets, and I was all ready to write this blog post, but then the Farm Manager said she wouldn’t take pictures unless I write something about the Funny Farm. That’s how lazy she is: I have to write her blogs, now.

For once, I am not the doofus. Wow, Frieda, classy.

Let’s get it over with. Here I am, watching Frieda pick at her nether regions. I want to point out that I don’t eat chicken food any more. Not since yesterday. That hanging bin behind me is full of food, totally unguarded. Wild mallards traipse in and eat it all the time, but not me.

In this photo I am biting Frieda’s head off. (Not really.)

The chickens do eat my food, though. This is my bowl of birdseed. The Farm Manager fills it for the Garden Party every afternoon and I let the chickens eat out of my bowl. Have you ever stuck your nose into chicken feathers? They are really soft.

I don’t know why this photo is here. You can’t see my handsome face, you can see by my empty grain bowl that I am usually starving, and The Chambermaid hasn’t cleaned up yet. After I spend the night in the kitchen there are gravy stains all over the rugs. Not my fault.

So, Funny Farm news, here we go. Guinea pigs, blah blah blah. Rabbit, whatever. There’s still a pigeon in the kitchen. My visitors stop at Phoenix’s cage to admire him and totally forget about the capybara in the kitchen. He’s only a pigeon but everyone is very impressed by all his strutting and cooing. Screaming cockatiels, ridiculous parakeet, dumb doves, bunch of quacking outside. Got it?

Sunbathing is my favorite hobby while I mark time between corn treats.

The best days are the sunny no-jacket days. We have one or two of those a month during the winter. People will tell you that Seattle weather is lousy, and it usually is, but a dry day in the Pacific Northwest is priceless.

It isn’t really a Halloween costume, even though it looks exactly like one.

My first jacket looked like a pumpkin. Don’t even ask. It didn’t quite cover the subject, so the Farm manager started looking around for a replacement. For three years. I don’t think she took this jacket thing very seriously.

I like to graze at dusk, the tastiest time of day for grass.

This is jacket #2. It has ducks. It isn’t as warm as Pumpkin but it’s big enough and it has a hood. Hoods are kind of a stupid idea, if you ask me. The other mystery is these useless miniature velcro straps. Are they supposed to go under my stomach? Are they joking? The Farm Manager tucks the front ones into my harness. That is Stage One of the Find My Jacket game. Jackets come off easier than they go on, it turns out. This one is lightweight, slippery material, so it fairly flies off of me.

Seriously, my footprint is not at all like the one on this jacket.

My newest jacket is dandy. It’s kind of waterproof and has a cozy flannel lining. It’s almost big enough but the velcro is just as useless as ever. Do you see that footprint on the back? Does that look like a capybara footprint to you? It’s not even close, if you ask me.

Where was this jacket in December when we were all freezing to death? I hardly need it now, in April.

Another Quick-Release jacket, but this one is easy to find because of the fancy red inside. (Don’t worry, it’s not blood.) It also has reflective tape. Perfect for night-time grazing.

Even this jacket isn’t quite big enough when I lean down to graze. I’m a big boy.

I know you want to see me lose my jacket again. Here you see it.

How it looks from way across the yard.

Here you don’t.