Catch Me If You Can

It is not yet breeding season for the turkeys.  They make me think of early high school dances (back in the day) when the boys would stand awkwardly on one side of the gymnasium while the girls primped and preened, sitting on the other side.  Finally, one boy, driven by testosterone and the goading of his male cohorts, would cross the barren No Man's Land in the middle and approach the lady of his choice and ask for a dance.  Then it was as if the flood gates opened and a herd of big-footed, gangling boys would rush across to the line of girls in three or four crinoline slips and poodle skirts and the dance would begin.  These hens were waiting for breakfast and the toms hung back.  It won't be too long before the groups merge.

The goats, on the other hand, are going through their cycles again, cranky as all get out and frustrated.  Female goats will modify their behavior in the absence of a male.  Tessie was being courted by Sheila when it was Tess's turn to come in and she was more interested in Sheila than in getting her udder emptied.  We made several laps around the pen while I tried to divert Tessie, and it wasn't until Sheila made her final move that I was able to grab Tess's collar and take her back to the barn.

I got a good start on window washing; not close to finishing, but at least it's a start.  Like a little kid, Bessie Anne would whine when it was our usual time to go outside.  If I didn't respond immediately, her whining would get louder and louder.  It was a case of drop what I was doing and go with her or yell at my friend.  I can't take the look of reproach from those puppy-dog eyes when I shout at Bess, so we would sit on the porch long enough to satisfy her and then resume chores.  That's my excuse for not finishing all the windows.  Works for me.