Behind the Time

It's not uncommon for me to be out of the loop.  I don't take a newspaper, and watch television news primarily for the weather reports.  Enough big stuff filters through so I'm not totally ignorant of the world outside of Fair Play.  However, my chain did get yanked this morning.  Awakening in the dark as per usual, I glanced at the bedside clock.  Sometimes I wake up at three a.m. and think about it before deciding that's really way too early and go back to sleep.  (Sometimes I get up then; Bessie Anne and Frank are used to my erratic sleep habits.  Pearl could care less as she sleeps in another room.)  This morning the clock said five-eleven and I excused myself to Frank, who was sleeping on my feet, and rolled out of bed.  A little later, coffee mug in hand, I turned on the computer, only to discover I'd evidently gone into a black hole whilst in the kitchen.  The computer announced it was six twenty-seven.  Clock said, no.  Five twenty-seven.  Reality check...turn on the TV.  TV sided with computer.  Six twenty-seven.  I've been blind-sided by the dreaded time change...and left behind the time. 

Morning chores are done pretty much by the clock, but bedtime for the animals comes at sundown, regardless of time.  The timing borders on critical.  Too soon and, like balky children, no one wants to go to bed and it requires a major round up.  Too late and the chickens put themselves to bed without their nighttime snack and the goats mob around me, crying and complaining, and I feel guilty.  Sundown will come when it will, but this dratted time change will mess up my day completely.  (And if that's the worst thing that happens, aren't I lucky?)

Fence Guy's Third Son drew the short straw yesterday and, by himself, carried all the T-posts and rolls of fencing down to the south pasture, sweating bullets on a cool afternoon.  I may get pulled into service today to hold posts, etc., if Fence Guy and/or older brothers have duties elsewhere.  NASCAR isn't running this weekend, so I'm available.

The big hens, who have stayed in their pen for several months now, seem to have regained their collective memory of how to fly and the majority were out free-ranging yesterday.  I thought perhaps they'd tunneled under the fence, but a quick walk-around showed no holes.  Perhaps the greens I've been throwing to them after weeding in the garden proved too great a temptation.  I just hope they remember to lay their eggs in the hay barn. 

Regarding eggs:  I took away the remaining egg that Yuki was dutifully sitting on.  It was well past the hatch date and she needed a break.  I did crack that egg, and it evidently had not been fertilized (but, boy, it was smelly!). 

Finishing with the chickens, I had that feeling I was being watched...and I was.  Ten or so of the big tom turkeys who show up with the breakfast brigade were clustered just outside the pen, pointedly moving in my direction.  I don't mind giving morning treats to this gang of feathered Freddy Freeloaders, but have never fed them at night.  However, not wanting to be mugged, discretion seemed the better part of valor and I buckled, getting a scoop of grain for the Boys.  They actually ran, almost to my feet, but I was able to make a getaway unscathed.  As I've said before, I'm easily trained, especially by intimidation.

I see by the clock, I'm late!