Ever get that feeling you are being watched? Turned away here, these four turkey hens (can't call them Peeping Toms) had peered in the window and waited while I went to get the camera. Lots of birds land on the rail but they are the small sparrows, blue jays, and black-caps, not these feathered behemoths. It's a little spooky to have four sets of eyes staring at you. Having had their photo op moment, the quartet continued on with stately, measured tread around the corner of the deck to peck at the dried seed fronds of the licorice mint.
Slightly warmer yesterday, I could use the cart instead of the sled to haul alfalfa to the goats, but in the shade, five days after the snowfall, there were still four inches of snow on the table. It's been that cold. One by one, the turkeys marched to the end of the deck and, like high divers, leaped into space and glided to the ground.
I have learned to stoke the stove well before sitting down in the recliner at night. Once the footrest goes up, I'm in the chair for the duration. Bess snuggles at my side with her head on my ankles and Pearl takes her place on my lap and nobody moves. The fleece throw has been replaced by fur as we three keep each other warm. It could be worse.