Anything I might have written earlier today would have been bleeped like Gordon Ramsey on a bad day. It is raining again. I checked with my carpenter son to see if he had the specs on building an ark, but he didn't know what a cubit was either. The goats had suggested this might be a way out, but decided against it, as there were more than two of them and they didn't want to have to draw straws (no intact males notwithstanding).
Evidently I'm not the only one who sleeps late on Tuesdays. I did get the barrel down to the big road this morning by the six-thirty deadline...in the rain, but the trash truck just pulled up to Fleur de Lys Winery and it's almost eleven-thirty! Had I but known.
An hour or so spent in the barn was enough to restore whatever equilibrium I might have. The barn birds and mice normally give each other a wide berth, but this morning was a turf war over the choicest tidbits and I had a front-row seat for the action. The girls were eager to take their turn inside out of the weather, so milking went quickly and well. I normally brush down the goats before washing their udder, but not when it's raining. I had always looked with great sympathy at livestock standing out in the rain, but Nature has a way of taking care of her own. When the hair on goats, horses, and cattle gets rain wet, it clumps together in alternately overlapping Vs, so it acts like shingles on a roof, letting the water just run off. When I run my fingers up underneath, the skin is warm and dry. I wouldn't want to ruin Nature's raincoat. The girls are starting to shed their winter undercoat, and when I clean the brush (on a sunny day), the birds swoop down to gather that soft hair to line their nests.
At any rate, my land-locked ark is back on keel now. The house is warm, the milk has been filtered, morning chores have been done, and I've got a good book waiting.