After days of frenetic activity, company, and goat craziness, it's time to get back to normal (whatever "normal" is). The girls came in in orderly fashion yesterday for a change. There was one small contretemps when Sheila had an accident on the stand, fortunately the results of which did not flood where I sit. Either the weather has dampened Tessie's ardor or she's finished her cycle. Whichever, we're both calmer now.
On Thanksgiving, while Dave was carving the bird, Craig had asked what to do with the wings, etc. I told him to package them up for the chickens. "Will they eat that stuff?" "Oh yeah!" It wasn't raining when I let the little girls and guy out of the coop yesterday and they ran to the meat like a flock of vultures. I checked on the way back to the house and they had picked the bones clean in that short time. There's something ironic about chickens eating turkey, but it's not for me to judge, any more than when Louie the pig ate sausage and bacon and licked his (pork) chops.
The skies opened up and rain fell most of the day. Harold had driven his forklift under a tarp and caused a waterfall. His arrival here was delayed while he changed into dry clothes. (Hard not to laugh.) Fortunately, Stove had cooperated and the house was warm, and Harold did yeoman's duty with a fork on the leftovers. Three days later, there is hardly a dent noticeable. It's off to the freezer with some of that stuff.
We were as back to normal here as we're gonna get. It was a good day.