The girls are shedding their winter coats. I liken it to taking off scratchy woolen longjohns. The goats so obviously like being brushed every morning, leaning into my hand, and Esther actually hums with pleasure. They also rub against the chain link fencing and gates, trying to rid themselves of dead hair. I've got to clean the brush after each girl, getting a big puff of fluff that gets thrown out the milking room door. The birds, in turn, take that fluff to line the nests they are building under the eaves.
It was a perfect day to mow, tax forms notwithstanding. There was a light overcast and a cooling breeze, and the whirligig weeds were studding the fields. If I got at it, maybe I could prevent those awful seeds from maturing and making life hell for us all. Any excuse to procrastinate is a good one, and this one seemed worthwhile. My dear little tractor started right up after a winter layoff. I got the south yard and the west field mowed before my butt gave out. It seemed to me that the ride was a bit stiffer, but it may be that I'm just a year older. At any rate, it was a good day and a job well done.