Start To Finish

One way, perhaps the only way, to find cat yark on the floor in the dark is with bare feet.  Guaranteed success every time.  What I don't know is whether the cat carefully plans placement in the path of the unsuspecting, or if feet have naturally built-in sensors for the substance.  Either way, that was my eye-opener and beginning of my day yesterday.  (Yes, I believe in omens.)

Ginger, aka Miss Ditz, came out from under the feed barn when I came out and we did our laps again.  She won.  Again.

Drastic changes in the weather affect the animals in the goofiest way.  It's as if the ions get them all charged up.  Cool, almost misty, and overcast yesterday, the girls were struck giddy.  During and after the milking routine, they did their hobby-horse galloping around the pen and, not fighting, had jousting matches, one against another and changing partners.

I don't know if two more of the pullets were coaxed out by Ginger or were overcome with jealousy of her freedom, but they joined the little renegade and spent a joyful day out of the pen.

My day was spent in a race, with its own set of frustrations, to get ready for the Farmer's Market.  It's always a pleasant event, made even more so by the much cooler weather.  It's the deadlines and packing up that are a pain in the patoot.  On the way home I saw large herds of deer in the fields by the road, undoubtedly driven to more populated areas by the recent Sand fire that had burnt their usual habitat.

Come evening, two of the little red hens came running as soon as they saw me coming.  "It's She Who Feeds Us!"  They were on my heels when I opened the gate and needed no chasing down.  And then there's Ginger.  Who knows where she was.

Because I had to deal with the eager runaways, I was late getting to the goat barn.  As my punishment, not one of the girls would come in, not even Poppy.  Poppy has a more forgiving nature and finally pushed her way to her room, but her roommate, Sheila, was holding a grudge.  She and the others stood at a distance and just looked at me.  Poppy had gobbled down the nighttime treats and started bellowing for Sheila.  When Sheila relented and came in, Poppy came out when I opened the door and we started all over again.  It would take too much time to describe the rest.  Suffice it to say I was running back and forth like a demented thing, opening and closing doors, alternately coaxing and yelling at the hold-outs, and, as darkness fell, getting the last goat into the barn.

It was one of those days, start to finish.