"I dood it," was a line of Red Skelton's (a long-ago comedian). I'm borrowing it because Camille got home yesterday and my duty at Farm Two is done and the pressure is off. All noses and toeses were accounted for. I really had meant to take the camera down and get pictures of Frick, Frack, and Shadow but was always in a time crunch. One of these days, perhaps.
Tree Guy came as promised yesterday and set off the burn pile and moved all of the loose wood out of the side yard. Of course it was the hottest day so far and TG was sweating bullets. Those jobs have been hanging fire for a long time. Now TG can also say, "I dood it."
I, however, have lost my excuse not to mow those sections of yard. I put that on The List and instead got a start on pulling weeds in the front walkway. It would be so much easier to get the weed eater and whack away, but volunteer marjoram, thyme, and yarrow have snuck out of the herb garden and are thriving. I just can't bring myself to chop them up along with the weeds. Even if they get stepped on, they release such lovely scent. Bessie Anne loves it when I pull weeds. As soon as I uncover a patch of bare ground, she plops herself down on the cool earth. Frank and Pearl swing by to assess progress as good supervisors should. The chickens get the benefit of fresh greens. It's a win-win for all things but my back. I'll settle for the satisfaction and overlook the aches.
I have no idea what set them off in the first place, but Sheila and Inga continued with their grudge match for the second day. Once again, there was Inga up in the tree at sundown. I learned a long time ago never to get between battling goats but this was ridiculous and I wanted to get back to the house. I got a rope around Sheila's neck and dragged her away to her room. Inga, the older, was more than happy to come out of the tree and go to bed.
As an aside and to answer a question from Cloud, I write the journal as I drink my morning coffee, so each entry refers to the happenings of the day before. Not much goes on here before daybreak, and I'm usually too tired to approach writing anything after dark. In other words, I'm always a day late and a dollar short. It was a good day.