I put in a call yesterday morning to see about a delivery of alfalfa. I was down to the last bale and the bottom of the barrel of goat chow. If I time it right, Patrick, a stalwart young man, will toss a bag of chow on the flatbed with the alfalfa. He handles the 75 pounds of chow like they were a bag of potato chips, the same feed that I struggle mightily with to get out of my truck and into the shed. Dave wasn't sure when the hay would be delivered, so it was a great relief to see the Mt. Aukum truck coming up the drive yesterday. Ta da! Patrick is the male equivalent of Chatty Cathy and I hear all about him, his woes and triumphs, and bits of news about others as he goes about bucking the bales off the flatbed. He's a good-hearted guy and will stack the alfalfa no more than two bales high for me, three high being difficult for me to pull down, and he easily put the goat chow in the shed. I'll deal with getting it down to the barn later.
A load of alfalfa is a crapshoot, depending on the time of year and where it was grown. The last delivery was a disaster, all ten bales. Nothing but loose stuff, impossible to pull off a flake to throw over the fence for the girls, and a good portion of each bale fell into the shed and was wasted. Sometimes it's nothing but stems, not so good for the goats. Patrick said this load was heavier than any he'd bucked in the past. This could be a good thing, or it could mean the alfalfa was baled when wet and could go moldy. One can hope.
He did me an extra favor by taking the battery out of Fu Manchu so I can get it tested today. I have faced down large bobcats and rattlesnakes, but anything electric scares the snot out of me. Laugh if you will, but I won't leave an extension cord plugged in once the appliance or whatever is disconnected because it's my theory that electricity will leak out the open end. Batteries are also heavy so Patrick put it in the back of my truck so I'm ready to go.
It's a good day when the hay man cometh.