Friday, January 28, 2011

Trash Talk

"This message is for my trashy neighbor..." began the voice mail message some while ago.  I was taken aback, to say the least, until I recognized Dennis's chuckle.  He and I sometimes connect down at the big road on Tuesdays, dropping off our weekly contributions for the garbage man.  He had surgery recently and I've missed him.  I was reminded of the call when his daughter Debbie and I were retrieving our garbage cans this week, and she got out of the car saying, "Hi, Trashy Neighbor!"  I'm used to calls left for The Goat Lady, and now it appears I've got a new sobriquet.  Oh, could be worse.

Sarah came to buy milk yesterday, bringing her two adorable daughters, three years and three months old.  The three-year-old is quite precocious, with an extensive vocabulary, and she chatters away like a magpie.  She has entered that "Why?" phase that all little ones use to boggle their parents' minds.  She has an active imagination and, while Sarah and I inspected the little trailer, she "protected" us from the danger of cougars who might be lurking outside.  (No, she's not a city kid!)  I have been dying to get my hands on the baby, but she isn't used to strangers and would burst into tears if I'd come too close.  As with other small creatures, I could only get near if I moved slowly and didn't make eye contact.  We fooled her yesterday when her mama handed her over with her back toward me and she didn't realize who was holding her.  Oh, the bliss of holding a baby again.  There isn't anything sweeter in the world than the nape of a baby's neck.  Baby became accustomed to my touch and the rumble of my voice, and I was able to nuzzle to my heart's content, and I was finally free to look in those beautiful blue eyes.  Both girls are going to be heart-breakers when they get older.  I'm no fool...I have neither the patience nor the stamina to raise Kids anymore, but it's awfully nice to enjoy their company for a little while.

With any luck, I will get a kid or two of my own in five or six months.  I've decided to send Tessie off to sex camp this Sunday.  Ruthie is finally drying up, and I need to rejuvenate the milk supply.  Tessie did pretty well in with the other girls in the barn.  It was Nineteen who about lost it.  He's never spent a night alone, and he cried the entire time I was milking until I finally let him out in the pen and he could reconnect with his stall mate.  Tessie will be off having fun, and Nineteen is going to be miserable. 

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