I thought the days when I was up for the Mean Mother Of The Year Award were put behind me when the Kids grew up and I could stop telling them "no" and "you have to." However, it seems the goats have submitted my name for nomination and they think I have a strong chance of winning. After all, who but a very mean mother would force her girls outside on a rainy day? I do feel bad for them and I wouldn't do it if I had any options. No one hesitates to dash under cover in the milking room, but once inside and they are up on the stand, even the ones who usually scarf down their chow like a vacuum cleaner dawdle over their bowl, eating slowly and picking up every kernel, trying to extend their time inside. The one I feel the worst for is Cindy. She readily comes in for breakfast as do the others, but instead of accepting the inevitable and going out the door, she turns to me and puts her forehead against my side. "Please, Mom. Please don't make me do this." I explain and I apologize. Oh, man, do I apologize. Finally, she heaves a sigh and goes outside. I think I may win the Award this year, too.
The girls do have places to get in out of the rain. It's not my fault if they choose not to. At bedtime, I can tell which ones are sensible (usually Esther and Tessie) by their at least semi-dry coats, and which ones are making a bid for sympathy. Dripping or dry, they all head into their stalls for the night and we've put another day behind us.
It rained all day long, but without the wind of the day before. I found a number of smaller branches down, but so far, so good with the trees, my biggest worry in a high wind. This storm has been warmer than the week before, but dampness seeps into the house and Stove must still be fed. Supposedly we're due for a short break today and I'll be able to replenish his supply of fuel. Some may make hay while the sun shines, me, I haul firewood.