Pride Goeth

If it is true that 'pride goeth before a fall,' then the Silkies are getting a premature lesson in humility.  After some failed attempts to put a cover over their pen, I had to resort to putting their dog-crate coop into a large plastic trash bag and making it tight with duct tape...about the farthest imaginable from the Taj that they've been promised.  I'm not sure chickens understand forethought, but I did try to explain this was for their own good and would keep them dry in the coming storm.  The front of this cave is closed with an open grate, so they can still see out and get fresh air. 

In addition to taking all of the diaper wipes out of the bucket in the milking room, the squirrels have taken the plastic package wrappers.  I envision looking out on a rainy day and seeing squirrels in little blue plastic ponchos in the goat pen.  I can think of no other reason.

I let the gutters go in favor of mowing down the tall weeds in the back yard, and then starting the weedeater that Dave and Zach repaired and cutting down the majority of weeds in the garden before I ran out of steam.  It was all still dry; if left until later, it would become a sodden mass, and it was a chore that desperately needed doing.  I still need to put the covers over the "windows" in the goat barn...and maybe get to the gutters.  Or not.  It started misting as I was putting the kids to bed, and I know it rained some during the night.  I think we're just about ready.