The weatherman says we've lost an hour of daylight with the changing seasons. That seems about right. I know I'm getting up later, but still in time to see the sunrise...and hear the roosters in the area as they greet the morning. Given their strutting ego, they probably think they bring up the sun by themselves. Some have an almost musical doodle-dooo, and then there's Stanley. Rotten Stanley sounds like he's being strangled. There's no doodle to it, just aaarrrgh Were I to be honest, throttling him myself has occurred to me on any given morning. We have never reached detente or anything close to it. Going in to feed is still like entering the lion's cage and I never, never turn my back on him. He makes me miss Leonard, a gentle Buff Orpington of years gone by.
GB and the goats have come to some sort of understanding, at least the girls have stopped giving their warning snort as we pass by on our morning walkabouts. Undoubtedly it is due to GB's calm demeanor, and possibly because he's on a leash. Sheila and Tessie come to the fence to watch the one-dog parade, and GB likes to stop for a minute to look at them, but that's about it. GB doesn't care much for drama.
GB has taken a real shine to Arden when she comes over on Fridays. "Oh, my friend is here!" I guess I'm going to have to institute the Bessie Anne program of a milk bone given when a guest enters the house. Arden and I take turns providing people snacks while we watch TV, and I really don't like to have a dog staring at me while I'm eating. Arden doesn't mind, but it's not a habit I'd like to encourage. Maybe a treat at the door will help with that.
Phone call...gotta go!
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