Situation Normal

What started as a two-visit trip to the dentist a few weeks ago turned into a snafu, and then quickly went on to fubar.  (If those terms are confusing, ask someone in the military for a translation.)  Today I will make the fifth or sixth trip to see Dr. Doug (no, not the squirrel).  These visits have entailed a number of extractions, and another one today.  Yesterday someone asked me how my teeth were.  I said they were just fine, thank you, the dentist has them.

Early morning appointments are difficult and sometimes impossible because of the goats.  There are some things that can't be rushed; rising bread, a three-year-old child, and goats included.  The girls will pick up on the slightest nuance and react accordingly if they sense tension.  I talk to the animals all the time, but rarely with my voice.  I speak with my hands, moving slowly and gently as I brush them down or reach for the udder.  Animals don't interpret words, sounds yes, but they understand touch.  One can say the most awful things to a dog in a sweet tone of voice and the dog will wag its tail happily as if it had been called the most wonderful dog in the world.  A calm hand on a shoulder will quiet a barking dog faster than yelling at it to shut up.  At any rate, I really was in a hurry to get the barn chores done yesterday but was successful in keeping a slow, steady pace and, wonder of wonders, even though I was earlier than usual and the routine was somewhat disrupted, the girls came in in orderly fashion.  I'd been particularly worried that Inga would pull one of her delaying games, but she was one of the first ones on the stand.  I'm hoping for a repeat performance today.

Last night I dined on a sumptuous meal of cottage cheese with an ice cream bar for dessert.  Tonight I'm looking forward to something I can sink my teeth into.  In fact, I'm looking forward to being reunited with my teeth.  That's what I'd call situation normal.