Those Weren't Ants

My intentions were to write about my current guests, my great-niece from the Long Beach, CA, area and my great-nephew from New Hampshire.  I've not seen Jeff since he was a little, little boy and, while Lori and I are frequently in contact, it's been some time since she's visited.  Arriving in the morning, I fed them a quick breakfast and then Jeff did a tour of duty in the goat barn with me.  We all did a lot of nonstop talking and then they went to sample the wares of a few of the local winemakers in the afternoon while I caught up on some chores.  That's what I intended to describe.

At sundown, I went out alone to put the critters to bed.  Cindy got balky and would not go into the barn with the other goats.  Hoping to coax her in through the milking room, I lifted the lid of the grain bucket hanging on the wall and reached up to get a handful.  I wanted a handful of grain; what I got was more than a handful of mice.  The little thieves leapt out in twos and threes, running down my arm and jumping from my shoulder, and more kept coming.  And then it happened.  Two mice sprang out and landed with unerring aim, falling down inside the front of my bibbies.  Never have I been so glad that bibbies do not have a waistband or that I was wearing a turtleneck and not a tank top.  No clogger could have danced faster than I as I tried to get those mice down and out my pants legs.  I was laughing loud and so hard I scared Cindy and she ran into the milking room to hide.  Getting her in there was the plan in the first place; it was the unique method that surprised me, one I do not plan to repeat.  I was still laughing when I got back to the house to tell of my latest farm adventure, too good not to share.