On the Beach

This is Poppy doing her one and only trick, an impression of a beached whale.  She even has a high-water mark.  Good old Poppy, she gets credit for effort.  Short on sparkling personality she may be, but I have such a soft spot in my heart for my dup-de-dup sheep. 

"On the Beach" is a terrific book by Nevil Shute, and later was a movie that did the book justice with Gregory Peck, Ava Gardner, and Fred Astaire (in a serious role).  Published in 1957, it has lost none of its impact over time, and the movie is well worth watching.  (I just had to throw that in.)


Lest it be thought that I only make fun of Poppy, here she is looking regal.  Given the weather of late, I'm not in a big rush, but I've got to hunt down a shearer for her for this year.  I'm hoping the guy who did it last year will be available.  It's a toss-up; shear her too soon and she suffers from the cold.  Leave her too long, and she suffers from the heat.  Like the window for planting, you've got to catch it just right.

I was taking the photos of Poppy while standing just inside the milking room.  Inga wanted to know what the heck I was doing, and Sheila was right outside the dutch door out of camera range.  Goats are insatiably curious; that's what makes it so hard to get anything done in their presence.  Even mucking out the barn is more difficult because they have to inspect every shovel full of doodah, in my way at every step.  The extension to their pen will be great, because the old fence will still be in place with a gate between, and I'll be able to put them in the new yard and actually be able to work without their close supervision and interference.

I spent another hour or so in the afternoon pulling the dadratted bracken.  Frank was not pleased, as I was taking away his ambush hiding sites.  He and Pearl were playing hide-and-seek and he was winning.  The clouds were organizing for another night of rain, so I went on out to the garden to prep another barrel and plant turnip seeds.  The thought of turnips makes me smile.  Once, years back when the garden was flourishing, Steve asked me what we were having for dinner.  I told him such-and-such, and turnips.  "Tonight?!"  "Well, yes, tonight.  Why?"  "You can't just spring turnips on a guy!  You have to give a few days' notice so he can think about it."  I'd never realized that turnips had such an emotional impact.  Anyhow, the seeds got watered in again last night.