Plan B

If at first you don't succeed, go to Plan B.  I'd been letting Cindy out first, shutting the gate behind her, then going back for Inga.  Inga always made a break for it, pushing past me to go with Cindy.  Sometimes I could catch her collar, sometimes not.  Plan B in this case was to bring Inga out first, put her up on the stand in the headstall with her bowl of cereal, then go back and let Cindy out.  Ta da!

 Meet Gary, who thinks we are BFF.  For some time, I'd been trying to keep this gopher from eating the grain thrown down for the mice by squirting him in the face with milk.  It didn't work.  It's pretty obvious I hold no intimidation for Gary (note my stylin' shoe).  It used to bother me that the turkeys were eating the birdseed I put out for the little birds until it dawned on me that they were wild birds, too, and who was I to draw the line?  I guess when you serve an open buffet, you don't get to choose the guests.  Gary and I are going to have a talk, however, about not tunneling under the milking stand legs.  Quid pro quo.

Ralph is fascinated by the ceiling fan.  It's a very good thing there is no way he can reach it or I know a cat who would go flying across the room.

I'd been feeding the cats on a counter top in the bathroom, which they consider "their" room.  Celeste has been reluctant to join us in the rest of the house.  Plan B was to move their feed bowl out to the kitchen.  I see a lot more of Celeste now.

There should always be a Plan B.