Knock Knock. Who's There?

"Who's that knocking at my door?"  "It's Barnacle Bill the Sailor!"  (Song from 1929, a ditty my mother sang often.)  It is certainly not unusual to see various tribes of turkeys making their way through the herb garden, stripping seeds from the long stems of wild grass.  However, I did not expect to see these big birds, two of them, right up on the front porch yesterday.  Ralph was making that kek-kek sound, but seemed a little intimidated but curious, just peeking around the corner.  As with the coyotes, my hospitality extends just so far, and the house is off limits to the toms.

What was more than welcome was the twenty-degree drop in temperature.  Down in Diamond Springs the day before, it was 103, so I'm not talking sweater weather yet, but high 70s- low 80s was such a relief.  As happens with any abrupt change, the goats went a little nutty.  For whatever reason, the herd picked on Tessie all morning.  She's the wrong girl to butt heads with, but I learned long ago not to get in the middle of a fight.  The others made a ring around the combatants (they'd take turns) as if cheering or goading them on.  Poor Tessie had to take refuge up in the tree to get a break, the bad girls waiting at the base and calling her names.  Peace had been restored by nightfall.

It was a good day.