The farm is becoming a condo complex. Construction is going on everywhere. Supervisors keep a sharp eye on all activities, sounding little whistles of warning should a worker slack off or veer off track. I would not object to my new neighbors if they would just stay within the confines of their allotted sites, but I do take exception when they encroach upon my personal space. Daily, I kick dirt back down the holes that appear overnight in the barn, or stuff them with goat poop. Not easily deterred, these little excavators just move the entrance to their living quarters over a foot or two and make it even bigger. The danged ground squirrels have taken it a step too far now. Two sets of squatters have moved in under the porch. They seem to think they own the place. With the better weather, I leave the front door open and, looking out, there are squirrels sitting on my veranda enjoying my view! I've darned near got to kick them out of the way as I come and go. I wonder if I could claim them as dependents.
I had to restrain myself yesterday. There, in big, bold letters on the door to the feed store, was a sign, "Chicks are here!" Down in the valley, that might indicate the beginning of Happy Hour. Up here, well, it just means that the first delivery of baby chicks had arrived. The little ones are kept downstairs and it was so tempting to go down, just for a look. I know me, though, and I'd come back up with a dozen or so of the dear little things. I have no self-control in these matters. Eggs from the girls I have are piling up in the refrigerator as it is. Turning away from temptation, I got what I came for and that's all...this time.