Back Me Up

 I didn't exactly lie when Frank wanted to know where his missing jungle had gone, I just shrugged my shoulders and gave him a blank look.  I'd waited until he was napping in the house to go out and pull weeds, and would prefer not to have to make a full confession.  Not willing to give up his game, Frank hid under the barberry bush in the falling-apart barrel, sure he could not be seen.

There are plenty of weeds left to pull, but at least the walkway looks more like a walkway, if you don't count the marjoram, thyme, and yarrow spreading out.  I really have to fire up the rolling weed-eater, but I keep putting it off.  While I love to mow with the little tractor, I hate the weed-eater.  Any excuse is a good one to delay dragging it out, but I'm running out of excuses.

Pearl was off somewhere doing cat things and Frank had no playmate.  Bess and I were sitting on the porch in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun, so Frank pulled up a chair and joined us.  Not as much fun perhaps, but we were better than nothing.

During morning chores, it was Sheila and Cindy battling it out.  I'm seeing a common denominator here.  Is Sheila vying for Queen of the Herd?

David, the Animal Control Guy, stopped by in the afternoon.  (I hadn't called him.)  Turned out he wanted to know if I knew anyone who had weaner pigs for sale.  As it happens, I do, and I gave him a phone number.  Amazing how this kind of information gets around.  I always get a chuckle when I get a call for the Goat Lady from someone who got my number from somebody who knew someone who knew I'd have milk for sale.  The farm grapevine is alive and well.

While I am perfectly willing to share most info, I'd rather Frank not learn who ruined his playground.