Hallelujah!

When it works, it works!  Cutting the gate between the two pens required a new routine.  I'd thought about opening the gate when I first went down to the barn, but decided that might not be such a good idea because the girls might not want to come back for their turn on the stand and I sure didn't want to run that field to haze them back over.  Opening the gate is now the last thing I do before heading back up the hill.  Ruthie and Inga, obviously empty, were already lined up and waiting as I was filling the grain dishes for the nighttime snacks.  By the time I let Nineteen out of his stall, the herd had queued up, ready to go to "greener pastures."  Even though brown, anything on the other side of the fence has to be greener, in a goat's opinion.

Better yet, at nightfall the pullets had tucked themselves in the dog crate...every single one!  Bless their little chicken hearts.  (It probably helped that I had left Bessie Anne in the house until chicken chores were done.)

If spring is a girl in flowered skirts, summer is a boy, landing with a resounding thump and stomping around in big boots.  In a week's time, the pastures have turned brown.  There's no ignoring this kid; his presence is made known and he's not shy.  We who were wet with rain a couple of weeks ago are still wet, sweating like horses with the least exertion.  I'm already starting to plan my day around where there is shade outside, and what I can get done before the heat strikes.  All the windows in the house have been thrown open and the comforter removed from the bed.  With little advance warning and no time for transition, there's a new kid in town, for sure.