Dear Urists McFisherdwarves,
I have 'food hauling' and 'animal hauling' enabled for you guys because I can't really figure out which out which it counts as. And, while I don't expect you to come running back every time you pull a turtle out of the water to roll around on its back in the last moments of its dreary amphibious life, I do expect you to pick up at least one when you head back for a drink.
Watching all those poor turtles from above,
the overseer.
Dear Urist McFarmer,
You. Yes, you. The one who's supposed to be growing stuff. We don't have a place to grow things. You know why? Because it's also your job to plant stuff. That's why I told you to do it.
So, when you're planting, finish the job. I have to lock you in with a turtle to get you to do that. And that first harvest time, you were in the middle of pulling plump helmets out of the ground when you decided to go hunt down and eat a rat, or bugs, or whatever. You have a plump helmet in your hand. Eat that, then pick the rest!
Locking you in in the future,
the overseer.
Dear badgermen,
Your friends the giant badgers came--in one case literally--on the heels of our first migrant wave. Only half actually arrived, and they handily cut down our military. Then you guys move in and methodically eat all the sunbaked turtles next to the lake, our entire stockpile of food--then the dwarf gathering it and growing it.
Usually, you're supposed to kill the dwarves off, then move in. Not set up shop, drop your meager belongings into the bedrooms, and realize "hey, there are a bunch of short drunks in our dining room!"
Enjoy your new home, bastards.
Going to reclaim just to channel the volcano into the dining hall,
the former overseer.