Love Affair

The heat from the valley is pushing all that lovely cloud cover that kept us cool for a couple of days up and over the foothills.  Sure makes for some impressive afternoon thunderheads.

My mother was the next best thing to phobic when it came to mice, therefore I find it ironic that she unwittingly fostered my love for the small creatures.  Two of my favorite books as a child were Stuart Little and Walter the Lazy Mouse, both read over and over again.  Having a mouse for a pet was unthinkable in our house, but I was always delighted to find one in the feed bins at my aunt's.  She, like Mother, would run screaming.  I never understood that reaction.  My own colony down in the barn have learned the routine as well as the goats.  They come early for grain, but know that the milk will not be served until Sheila is on the stand.  Inga, first up, has nondirectional teats and I can't squirt with any accuracy over to the milk bar.  Ten or fifteen mice of all ages begin to congregate as soon as Sheila puts her head in the stanchion.  If they had tiny cups, I can imagine them banging on the table with impatience.  I direct a stream over to the side and the mice converge, lapping up the pools and puddles and sipping from the wipe I placed for them.  Good to the last drop!

After a slow start, yesterday was a good day.