Let It Flow

"Let it flow, let it flow, let it flow!"  Oh, please, let it flow.  On any given day, under ordinary circumstances, I'm in and out of the barn in just about an hour with three milked, all five fed, and the stalls cleaned.  Inga spraddle-legged it into the milking room and our ordeal began.  Between the tight udder and lack of teats, plus the fact that it was painful for her so she kept lifting and kicking her feet and I was playing goalie with the bucket, it took the better part of an hour just to get Inga milked out.  Of course it had to be the hottest day so far this year and sweat was pouring faster than the milk was coming.  She and I breathed a sigh of relief when she went out the door, much, much lighter than she'd come in.  Inga was free; I still had Sheila and Tessie and the nonmilkers.  By the time Tess was on the stand my hands were cramping badly and, through no fault of hers, it took twice as long to empty her bag.  Once again, raising hamsters seemed a better choice.

Gary the Gopher had been absent for days while I was feeding that awful stuff.  The store had still been out of the chow I prefer, but obviously the goats are not the only ones pleased we're back to sweet cob.  Not able to see past the swollen udders, I'd not noticed Gary in action.  After the last girl left the room, it was evident from the perfectly round hole that he'd joined us for breakfast.

After the long morning, the most ambitious thing I did all day was water deck plants and turn on the sprinkler in the herb garden.  I thought about weeding, but my hands rebelled at that.  Celeste took advantage of an available lap to nap all afternoon.  Who was I to disturb a sleeping cat?