Drum Roll, Please!

 Ta da!  The deed is done at last, and now I can quit feeling like Mr. Scrooge, grumbling as I work, and get on with more Christmas prep.  Anyone who has been to my house will not be surprised that my tree topper is a pig angel, nor that the little Santa in the background is also a piggy.  Many of the ornaments, from the ridiculous to the sublime, carry on the swine theme.  The upstairs tree is my "fun" tree, crammed mostly with ornaments that have been given to me over the years, and each one brings back memories of good times and good friends.  There are some that I've made, beaded or crocheted, and the Victorian roses with trailing ribbons decorated the bower when Steve and I were married.  I try to show a little more decorum with the downstairs tree.  I'm not ready to tackle that one just yet.

It's time to switch to flannel sheets.  I wake each morning somewhat cramped from sleeping in one position in my cocoon of warmth.  To put a foot or hand outside the warm zone is like dipping it in ice water.  Bessie Anne woke me the other night as she burrowed her cold nose into my armpit.  We've had glorious sunshine of late, but the daytime temps have stayed in the 50s and very low 60s, and the wood stove works twenty-four hours to hold the chill at bay.

The goat girls have been acting strangely since the boys left.  Sheila, who normally has bounded down to the barn for her turn on the stand, has been ignoring my calls to the point that for the last few days I've had to walk out with a rope to bring her in.  Yesterday Ruth, who'd already been milked, walked alongside as I went to get Sheila.  Once I had Sheila tethered, it was as if Ruth said, "Okay, Mom.  You hold her and I'll bash her a good one."  And she did!  And she kept butting her as I tried to hurry poor Sheila along.  I was swatting at Ruth, but she was not to be dissuaded.  What was going on?  As soon as I got Sheila inside, the rest of the herd started in on Ruth, taking turns hitting her from all sides.  Pretty soon Ruth was running the length and breadth of the pen and bawling.  Thankfully, they seemed to have settled their differences by bedtime.  Who knows what goats think.