A Watched Clock...

Watched pots don't boil, and watched clocks don't move; that's the way it works.  I waited all day for sundown (how's that for stating the obvious?), anxious about getting animals at both farms tucked in for the night.  It was my first day on duty and I wanted to do a good job.  I walk a fine line here at bedtime because the chickens don't want to go in their coops while it is too light, but the goats won't go in the barn if it is too dark for them to see into the far corners of their stalls.  Not sure about how much time it would take at Camille's, working on my own, I kept an eye on the clock and tried to judge the remaining daylight.  Wait, wait, wait, now!  Racing through chores here, I jumped in the truck to go to Farm Two, trying to beat the sinking sun.  Fed the cats, cut carrots for Shadow, got down to the barn, parceled out the feed for him and the alpacas (who were waiting in the appropriate pasture).  So far, so good.  Found Shadow's bowl, found one bowl for Frick.  Where, oh where, was the bowl for Frack?  Frack was following inches behind me and growling.  Yes, alpacas can growl.  If Frick finished his chow before I could put down Frack's meal, I knew there would be a food fight and not funny.  This was taking too much time; that darned clock was now spinning on fast forward.  Found the bowl and fed Frack.  On to the chickens.  Found the renegade hen in the unauthorized feeder.  Yes, chickens also growl.  Went to put her in the feeder where she spends the night (?) and discovered it was already occupied.  No instructions for such an occurrence; let 'em work it out.  Picked up seven eggs in the near dark.  Shut and locked gates and doors.  Said goodnight to all and drove home.

Watched the clock.  Is it my bedtime yet?