My favorite son been fencing again.
Simply the best...
26 - happy birthday Anaïs!
26 - a magic year!!!
Wish you a wonderful year ahead
´though tonight might end
the squirrel wasted way...
Checking pics from my birthday this year. 2016 has been my worst year ever. The only positive surprise so far was my birthday. (Beside the visits of my daughter with her boyfriend and in autumn my son). Remarkable!
The lovely painting I received from sweet Diane.
My beloved little duckling and a squirrel. I am seriously considering buying a pet.
My son André landed bronze in a Swedish fencing competition. I'm so proud. Congrats! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Happy Birthday André!!!
Älskar Dig Tottelini! Ha en underbar dag, Totte! Saknar Dig Andy Pandy! Stort GRATTIS, Shibby!
(Kärt barn har många namn ;)...)
Always my little kid at heart. Nowadays definitely a MAN, too.
My poor duckling is totally inflated and swollen. Probably a weak lung sac that got punctured due to weak "lung walls" that is leaking air into his tiny body.
Looking Michelin. I'm so worried. Instructed by advice from the net vet we made a little hole in its neck and got some air out. Today the air is all back so I and my son, André, are off to the vet!
With a syringe as a "weapon" I have to drag out air manually several times a day. So afraid hurting something vital. Between his tiny wings at the back is safest. I also medicate it with antibiotics twice per day.
The little duckling is so brave although it feels like Sisyphus him rolling a huge stone uphill each day. Fighting to breathe.
Cross my fingers.
The Fencer & Hero
My son is a fencer at heart. Helps me managing my double life in France and Sweden. Thank you.
Hero, the Californian cat on his 3rd birthday this year, July 24th. Leo, what else?
Duckling with a limp
The orphaned duckling born July 4rth has a deformed left leg with its "foot" in a 45 degree angle inwards. It trips a lot and can't run.
I pray it won't matter in water.
It's so cute but each step is a fight for equilibrium/balance. Poor thing.
My main concern is to motivate it to eat. As it it is so still due to its leg it feels depressed.
I still have a hard time mingling with H after the death of the smallest one (born April 29th) and the cutting of the tree. Each day this week something adds up on the bad list.
H folded the steel duck cage outside yesterday evening as he claimed it disturbed the grass...
H destroyed my beige Peak Performance shirt with some product.
Tuesday H was rude and nonchalant when we watched Sergent Garcia (a kind of local Manu Chao) perform on our anniversary not talking to me and walking ten steps ahead of me all the way from the Boathouse to Place de Crète. (This week is "Les Fondus du Macadam" in town.) I returned home on my own after three songs. Surprisingly H had reached home before me?!
In the mornings H can't say Good morning nor Good night... Just a hello and not a word around 10pm when he is turning his back towards me to sleep. No manners. Just this Bam-Bam fashion as a characture of a spoilt three year old who doesn't get his way fast enough.
At 58 H has became a sulking grumpy old fart.
Too bad his birthday June 14th (Yes, the same as Donald Trump's...) is passé...