Play The Game

Let out of her stall, Inga faked a left turn into the milking room and then walked on up the field.  "Inga!  Get your butt in here right now!"  She stopped, looked back at me and said, "Come on, play the game.  You know how by now."  Oh crum, not again.  Fighting off an incipient migraine, I had no patience and no inclination to engage.  One by one, I went on with the others, giving Inga an opportunity in between each time.  "No.  You're supposed to chase me.  You're not playing by the rules.  Try again."  There's nothing quite so maddening as that blank goat stare, unless it is their ability to stay one step out of reach.  Stalls cleaned, feed bucket refilled, and I'd had it for the morning.  I resisted the urge to give Inga a kick as I walked past her reclining figure in the grass and went back to the house.  We'll deal with that overfilled udder today.

I'm a fine one to talk.  I played my own version of Beat The Clock yesterday.  I did make the run to the feed store.  I did reload the porch rack.  And I did start and finish that Kellerman book.  I won!

Inga notwithstanding, it was a good day.