Hit The Spot

"Down a little.  Over to the right.  No, too much, go back to the left.  Ahhh, you hit the spot."  It just feels so good to have somebody scratch that itch you can't reach.  It's easy to tell you've hit the sweet spot while scratching a dog's belly when a back leg starts going uncontrollably.  It isn't much different with goats.  The girls get a good grooming every morning and when I hit their spot, they really lean into the brush.  Each one has her own.  On some it moves around, but Esther's is always on her left haunch.  Some days she leans so hard she darned near falls over.  It cracks me up.

Another tomato sandwich.  They continue to hit the spot and I've got enough for one more but honestly, I'm about tomatoed out.  I guess there is too much of a good thing and don't think I'm going to rush down to Camille's for another refill.

It's just light enough to make out the silhouette of the oaks and there is high-pitched yipping on the hill across the road, different from the yodeling of the coyotes.  The locals have been saying it is foxes.  I know I've seen foxes here in the past, but not for a long time.  I recently watched a documentary on the "coywolf," a naturally-occurring hybrid that is moving into urban areas in the east.  Very, very smart animals, it seems, and able to coexist with humans.  I don't know why we don't have them here out west.  Maybe we don't have enough wolves, or perhaps our coyotes just aren't that attractive.  Who knows?