Sing A Song

Ta da!  The peonies are blooming!  They are such garden showoffs.  This ruffled beauty is the first to show her face, but quite a few of other new arrivals have big, ready-to-pop buds.  Unfortunately, not just the peonies are doing well.  Weeds, the everlasting bane of my life, are also sprouting, some nearly two feet tall in a week.  I'm beginning to walk in a perpetual crouch as I pull a pile every time I pass by.  Aarrgh.

You know how it is when you get a song locked in your head and it won't let go?  Google has become my new BFF.  For days I've been hearing just the first line of a sea shanty, What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor, and I even had that part wrong.  My thinking was that if I could remember the rest of the lyrics, the song would go away.  A few keystrokes and I had my answer.  Now I'm waiting to see if the song will go away.

The girls are in the process of getting their pedicures.  It's a four-day ordeal in that I trim one foot on each girl every day, the same hoof on each so I don't forget where I am.  One hoof is about all they'll stand still for, even the "good" girls.  Yesterday all had gone well with the rest of the herd and then Cindy was up. I was on the third foot, the left hind leg, and she fought me big time.  Trimming does not hurt, but goats don't like to stand on three legs.  They may be small, but they've got a kick like a mule and I'm working with very sharp, pointed shears.  I'd just wrestled her into position when my cellphone rang.  "Can't talk now, I'll call you back.  Bye!"  Didn't even look to see who it was.  That hoof wouldn't pass muster at a goat show, but it's better than it was.  Later, when my milk customer came, he asked, "So exactly what was it you were doing this morning?"  "Goat wrestling 101."  Pause.  "I see."

Pulling weeds (again) in the afternoon on an absolutely gorgeous day, I heard the sounds of spring on the mountain.  The song of chainsaws has been replaced with mowers and weed-whackers.