Dog Days

Heat up, energy down.  Yup, we're in the dog days of summer.  This will be a short entry because 1) little of interest occurred yesterday except marathon sweating and 2) I've got to get down to the barn earlier if I'm to survive.  The heat seemed to have gotten to the mice, too.  As I sat resting on the stand while Esther was eating, suddenly a mouse dropped at my feet in the dust.  A short while later, another (or the same one?) hit the lid of the empty bucket with a clang like cymbals.  Thrill-seeking teenagers or adults overcome by heat stroke?  Mice must have bones of India rubber.  Falling the equivalent of me leaping from the Empire State building, instead of being splattered on the ground, these little creatures jump up and scamper off.  I keep a constant eye on water for everything, including juice for the hummers.  They're draining their feeders almost as soon as I hang them.  The big water pan I leave out for the wild things is empty every morning, and the chickens are drinking three gallons a day.  Hanging a load of laundry, as soon as I got the last piece on the line, I could go back and take down the first.  Without a breeze, the dry air sucked every bit of moisture from the cloth.  Doing laundry was about as much as I could accomplish yesterday.

This is the week of the Perseid meteor shower, said to be at its best this Saturday.  I just have to remember to go back out after dark.  Bessie Anne hasn't needed to go walkies lately and, without that incentive, I rarely go outside at night.

O crum!  A big Rottweiler just cruised through the yard.  That's all I need.  I know Rotties can be really sweet dogs, but I'd be hesitant to approach a stray.  Thankfully, he went on down the drive and hopefully was on his way home.  Probably stopped off for a drink of water.  I was going to say this ain't the corner pub, but in a way I guess it is.  Keep on moving, big boy.  This isn't what I anticipated when I said these are the Dog Days.