Reality

No use crying over spilt milk, but a few choice cuss words will get you past it.  "Kick the bucket" has a different meaning when dealing with dairy goats.  It's been quite awhile, but Sheila caught me (and the bucket) off guard yesterday and two goats' worth of milk went on the ground.  I was just very happy that it did go on the ground and not on the milking stand where I was sitting.  I've sat in a lake of warm milk before and, trust me on this, it's not pleasant.  I learned a long time ago to use two buckets, just in case, so there would be some product to bring back to the house.

"If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'."  Told you yesterday that leaves were falling.  This is the deck after just one day.  If I were obsessive about such things, I could sweep leaves daily, but it takes as much work to sweep a few and not nearly as satisfying as brushing a mountain down the way.

This is the short section by the dining room, also leaf strewn.  Bessie Anne, my constant companion, is becoming a photo bomber, trying to get in every shot.

I've taken to sitting at the new little table in the late afternoon.  The view doesn't have the same scope as the bench on the south side, but I can watch the chickens, busy little creatures as they are.  Two of the pullets flew up to the top rail of their pen fence.  I thought, "Oh, oh.  They're making a break for freedom," but it turned out they were getting a different perspective and strutted back and forth, showing off in front of their grounded sisters before fluttering back into the pen.  As I watched, a pair of young ground squirrels got in with the hens and played a rousing game of tag, racing up the ramp into the coop and out again, sliding down the ramp and in between the chickens.  This is my brand of reality TV.