Those flagging tails are a sure sign it's going to be one of those days. The girls are cycling and it makes them crazy. I'm positive that is what caused Tessie to bash Inga. They take turns playing different roles. One will jealously guard the other and drive away possible admirers. Another gets tired of the constant "attention." Just putting a hand on a rump as I pass behind is enough to start that tail to wagging furiously. Fights break out without reason. Nerves are frayed. Frustration is the name of the game. The does are on a twenty-eight to thirty-day cycle and fortunately they seem to be in unison. It doesn't last long when it comes, and they do "go dormant," but it's no fun for anyone when they're in the midst of it. We're in the midst of it.
Rip Van Winkle's dwarfs played a rousing game of nine-pins last night. Another storm hit, bringing lightning and thunder. Lots of lightning and thunder and pounding rain. We need the rain, but Bessie said she could do without the thunder. The flash of light behind closed eyes was enough to wake me, and the thunderclap was right overhead. Bess will calm down when I put my hand on her back, but she snuggles closer and closer. I feel bad for the barn critters and wild things as they must be scared to death during an electrical storm.
Enough of the fun and games, Nature.