The fates were against me. I was late with everything I did yesterday and I swear it wasn't because I was doing my world-class procrastination. (Well, that's not entirely true; I've already admitted to sleeping in until trash time. I'll take the hit on that one.) Early morning phone calls delayed me getting down to the barn and I was still milking when Tree Guy showed up unexpectedly. He finished cleaning up the last of the debris from the fallen oak in the goat pen while I cleaned the last stalls and readied the nighttime snacks for the girls.
One thing everyone notices in my house (besides the collection of pigabilia) is the stacks and stacks of books everywhere. There are filled bookcases in nearly every room, bags and boxes of books upstairs, and the long wall of shelves with over three thousand books downstairs. While certainly willing to share, I'm very particular about to whom I will loan a book. The book must be returned timely and in the same condition it left. TG has started borrowing books for his wife (who meets the criteria above), and he wanted to swap read for unread for her. This, of course, entailed a lengthy discussion of topics and authors so he could make an informed selection. Four books in hand, he left.
That made me late getting to the feed store. I wanted to get a supply of grain under cover before the rain came. On the very narrow road to Mt. Aukum, I was able to swerve and avoid a large roadkill in the middle of the lane because no cars were coming. On the way back, I stopped to pull the big boar raccoon over to the side. The small car headed in my direction would not have been able to either avoid or pass over it and was willing to wait for me to clear the road.
Hurrying, I unloaded the goat chow and chicken feed so I could get back to the house before my milk customer arrived. He had had quite a day for himself and wanted to tell about it, so I was late getting the kids tucked in until nearly dark. It seems when one starts the day behind the curve, one is doomed to end there.
It wasn't until I awoke to the sound of heavy rain this morning that I remembered the fifty-pound bag of bird seed still in the bed of the truck, waiting to be taken to the other shed. Drat. Behind the eight-ball again.