All bets are off on a rainy day. Whatever routine I might have had with the goats goes right out the window. Nobody wants to come out and they fight to get back in. As we all say in California this year, I'm not complaining about the rain, but it does put a crimp in the system. Regardless of my being soaked to the knees and sitting with rain dripping down my neck from a wet hat, the goats must still be milked. It's harder on a day when the refrigerator looks like a wall of white on the inside with stored milk and my customer is not due for more and I know all my work is for naught; the morning's milk is going to the chickens and down the drain.
The temperature had been in the high 70s and low 80s. It seemed unnecessary to bring firewood up to the porch. Silly me. You'd think I would have remembered that we had snow two days before Deb and Craig's wedding thirteen years ago (on April 28). It was damp (make that wet!) and cold yesterday and I was down to the last piece of wood in the afternoon. Time to sit in the chair and pile on the animals, but Ralph needed to be persuaded to join in. He became enthralled with raindrops rolling down the window. I was very glad I'd mowed down the west field the day before. The wet grass I waded through is an incentive to get out the weed-eater and whack down the weeds in the paths to the chicken pens. They said another wave is due tomorrow night and then the seesaw weather is going up to the high 80s. Go figure. When I'm reasonably sure it will be dry for awhile, the chicks in the laundry room will be located to the outside playpen and we'll all be glad for that.
Looking out the window this morning, I see the sun is shining, causing a ground mist to rise. I'm going to bring more wood up to the house, just in case.