I think Nature may have slammed the door on spring yesterday. It was cold, windy, and a grand finale of rain. It's predicted to go to 100 down in the valley by the end of the week, but she sure gave it one last hurrah up here. ("The Last Hurrah," 1958, Spencer Tracy, Jeffrey Hunter, James Gleason.) The last week of gorgeous weather had me spoiled. I knew it couldn't last, but it sure was nice while it was here.
In the musical "Oklahoma," the corn may be high as an elephant's eye, but in Fair Play the weeds in the pens are now as high as a goat's back. When the girls lie down, it's like playing "Where's Waldo?" They're completely hidden. After slogging through that wet jungle last evening, my shoes and socks were soaked and my britches were drenched and I know it's going to be more of the same this morning.
Bess has to go for her well-baby checkup and immunizations today. I hope she doesn't get dinged for being "portly" again. That doesn't do much for a girl's ego. I've changed her feeding, but she doesn't get as much exercise as she did when younger. It's too bad her examinations aren't scheduled for summer when I've clipped her fur and she's much lighter.
The hills across the way are hidden in fog this morning and the sky is heavily overcast. Again.