The Lion's Den

Stanley's name really should be Leo and mine should be Clyde Beatty (lion tamer in the 1930s-'40s).  My heart starts racing before I open the gate.  Where is he?  Most of the time he and his ladies are waiting just inside, but sometimes he hides behind the coop.  I use a fairly large, shallow plastic flowerpot to carry the two kinds of feed for the chickens and I use it as a shield, carrying it low in front of me until I can toss out the scratch and pellets, watching Stanley all the while.  I've learned the hard way never to turn my back on him.  He's sneaky.  He'll pretend like all he's interested in is breakfast, and then he'll make a run at me as I'm backing away, and he is fast!  I take a swing at him with the flowerpot and he'll back off and I back out.  My most perilous moments are when I'm replacing the filled waterer.  It's large and heavy and takes two hands and I can't defend myself while setting it on the ground, and believe me, Stanley is watching for an opportunity to strike.  I could try out for a soccer team, I'm getting so good at kicking.  Every morning, it's like going into the lion's den.  He has me thinking potpie.

Sheila is now the self-proclaimed queen of the herd, if you can call two goats a herd.  I'd thrown down the alfalfa for the girls, who immediately started munching, and headed down to the barn.  Missy came out to meet me and I was bending down to pet her when she suddenly dashed away and I heard running hooves behind me.  Sheila evidently decided that the cat was a threat to her mom, and she would have none of that.  She stood between us, nostrils flared, until Missy was out of sight in the barn before she'd let me past.  Then she turned and ran up to get her share before Tessie ate it all.  Missy got her breakfast and a good petting, so all's well that ended well.

Sadly, I did not fly the flag yesterday.  It never rained, but the skies were threatening all day and I didn't want to chance it.  Joe and his daughter Alex picked another good day to work on the fallen oak as it was cool while they were sweating, I'm sure.  As before, they worked a good, solid six hours.  It was a big tree.  Even sharing the firewood three ways (Alex is getting a third), we should all be set for awhile.

Having been brought to tears by Memorial tributes and movies, I switched and watched back-to-back reruns of Blue Bloods.

Oh, I should mention that Kathryn (Kit, to me), who frequently posts a comment here, was interviewed for TV while at a Memorial Park in Idaho and gave a most fitting tribute to our fallen heroes.