The big hedgehog didn't wait for dinner today and left before I could offer it. However, the baby hedgehog came almost immediately and enjoyed the rat guts.
There's still some cat food in the bowl, which I left for the magpies. The hedgehogs won't eat it because they have a choice of meats, but the magpies will have breakfast left over.
My knife holder made from old books impressed the audience.
Many people liked the idea, some had doubts about its hygienic nature (as if the crevices of wooden stands were all about hygiene), and some felt sorry for the books. Some people felt so sorry that they resorted to insults. The sophistication of book lovers is evident!
For me, it's an opportunity to reflect on people and their perspectives while I'm engaged in my daily routine.
As I reflect on my childhood, I wonder how our parents and school teachers taught us how to make a herbarium. And we shoved all sorts of weeds into the same books (thicker!) and then we knocked on them, crushing them so that a thistle or a rosebud would flatten. The pages were crumpled, bent, and stained with plant juice. And no one criticized us for cracking the seams of "War and Peace."
And now it seems that people don't feel sorry for the books, but for their own lives, which are similar to the lives of these books, and they sublimate their problems into the problems of old books that are forgotten on dusty shelves and are useless to anyone. It's sad.
And I don't like Dostoevsky. I don't like Tolstoy either.
I don't like Dostoevsky because he shattered my delicate childhood psyche at school. And I don't like Tolstoy because he ruined my summer with his extracurricular reading.
There was a Bulgakov on the shelf. And I didn't touch it, because I love, appreciate, and respect Bulgakov.
This is my personal opinion and my choice. There's no need for me to repeat it. Nor is there any need to try to impose your opinion and your choice on me.
#owlhouse #villagelifestyle #cuteowl