It's About Time

We've lost about an hour of daylight.  The sun isn't up at 5:30 anymore and it goes down a little after 8 p.m. now, a half-hour off either end.  Whine as I might about the seemingly endless heat of summer, it's difficult to think ahead to the long, long nights of winter when it is dark at 4:30.  There was a wonderful break yesterday when the temperature was only in the mid 70s.  Clay informed me that it was actually sprinkling down in the valley.  We weren't that lucky, but I'll take the cooler day and be glad that I got it.

Normally by this time, I would have clipped Bessie's fur down to a puppy cut to save her from the heat and the burrs that cling and tangle.  In the mix of breeds in her heritage, there has to be some border collie because of the heavy ruff over her shoulders.  Her belly is almost hairless.  Go figure.  When I did decide to give her a haircut, I found that my clippers had quit.  Yesterday Camille brought her set over.  It took awhile to get them working, and then realized there was no guard to go with.  I sure don't want to give Bess a shave; she'd get sunburned!  It remains to be seen if I can clip her before summer is over.

I'm almost out of time before Linda arrives.  I've started the push to clean house, but any interruption is welcome.  I turn the page on the calendar and think, "Oh, that's a long way off and I've got plenty of time."  I always think that and I'm always running late.  Goats are a seven-days-a-week job and without a weekend break, the days run one into the other, slipping by before I know it.  I'll need to make another trip to town to restock supplies; that will take the better part of a day and use up what little time I have left.