Their Own Bed

Lumpy, too soft, too hard - it doesn't matter.  There is nothing quite like crawling into your very own bed after any time away from home.  The goats and Poppy were so obviously happy yesterday morning that they had slept in their rooms and we had returned to the swing of our normal routine.  I am so grateful that a couple of nights outside is the worst that happened to them during this latest crisis.  The Sand Fire is nearly contained and we are no longer in danger here.

And life goes on.  Babe continues to run along the railing.  Ralph, blast him, has decided he doesn't like the mini-blinds in the front bedroom window and has broken a number of slats to get a better view.  I won't say it adds much to the look of the house.  I had put Celeste's treats in the pile to take if we needed to leave.  She let me know yesterday  it was time to unpack and tend to business, my main job being to give her goodies.  Bessie Anne knew something was wrong and had been clinging to me like a limpet for days.  She napped most of yesterday, as did I.  The girls went into the barn and the chickens into their coops last night with nary a complaint.  Life goes on.