Six goats, one sheep. While one girl is on the stand, five goats and one sheep are up at the corner chowing down on alfalfa, changing places one at a time (except Poppy) to come into the milking room. Finished with barn chores yesterday I headed up to the gate with the buckets. Instead of our usual parade, the pen was littered with six goats and one sheep lying in the sun, dozing or chewing cud, soaking up the warmth. After straining milk and washing buckets, I picked up a book and asked Bess, "Want to go outside?" The words were barely out of my mouth and she jumped out of "her" recliner, tail wagging, and ran to the door (she knows the drill). Not too hot, not too cold, my girl and I sat on the deck for a long while. Those goats had the right idea.
I doubt the neighbors pay me much mind anymore. If they glance up the hill on washdays, they might, however, wonder if I were housing a small army or perhaps a marching band. Thirty socks hanging on the line for just one woman? The thing is, in wintertime the only way to get through it without frozen toes is to wear double socks. Oh well, keep 'em guessing.