Rain is still the topic of the day. We're all tired of rain; tired of seeing it, tired of talking about it, and yet it goes on. Compared with the flooding and devastation in other parts of the nation, we're just a bunch of whiners, but it's our rain and we'll kick our heels on the floor and snivel if we want to. I'm glad I posted photos of the brief hour or so of sunshine from Monday...nice memories. The grass in the new section of goat pen is close to three feet high, beaten flat by the rain yesterday. It might be noted that there is a mown strip next to the fence line. That fencing is known as four-square. The girls manage to fit their heads through those four-inch openings and graze the grass that they continue to believe really is greener on the other side. Fence/Tree Guy can't finish his work here until it dries out some and if it doesn't happen soon.... The girls (and Nineteen) have cropped most of the grass in their pen. If I can't let them into the new section until after all on their side is gone, I will have to wait until everything in the extension is sere and brown because an overabundance of greenery all at once would give them diarrhea, which can be deadly to goats.
The rain that pounded the grass flat also beat on the metal roof of the barn. The girls aren't dumb. Normally, they chomp down their cereal as fast as they can, finishing long before I'm done at the other end. Yesterday they dawdled and poked, chewing each mouthful one-hundred times, cleaning up every scattered grain, and licking the bowl. They didn't fool me; they just didn't want to go outside again. I had to get behind a couple and literally push them out the door. I did apologize for I knew just how they felt. Bessie Anne, my faithful, constant companion, came with me as far as the chicken pen and said, "You're on your own, Mom. Good luck with that," and headed right back to wait for me on the porch while I tended the goats. Wuss dog.
