Playing Hooky

I wish gopher snakes had markings more dissimilar to those of rattlesnakes.  It gives one a jump start until the head or tail can be seen and the variety identified.  Thankfully, this intruder to the milking room was of the nonvenomous kind.  The only danger it posed was to the mice.  While that thought doesn't please me, the good thing is that snakes generally eat only once a week on average and so it isn't going to decimate the colony.  (I'd rather it developed a taste for ground squirrels.  Shhh.)  I never did get to see this one's tail, but there was a lot of snake looped on the sill below and over two feet showing.  It must have been uncomfortable, but Snake held this position the entire time I was bringing in goats, milking and feeding.  We agreed that if you don't bother me, I won't bother you.  Believe me, I did keep an eye on it because the last thing I wanted was to step on a snake.  It didn't move.

After chores, I was faced with a dilemma.  NASCAR or back to the grind.  Hmmm.  I was literally saved by the bell (in this case, the ringing of the phone).  My friend Harold called and invited me to go out for lunch.  Well yeah!  There was time to change into clean shirt and bibbies and even run the vacuum in the living room, and I put NASCAR on DVD.  We'd decided to try a cafe down in Mt. Aukum touted as a sports bar, so it was a surprise to find it closed on Sunday until I read the sign that said only "Football."  I guess if it were my place, it would have said "NASCAR."  Food and service at The Pub in Fair Play had been hit or miss in the past, but I knew there were new owners and one can always hope.  Options in this area are limited.  This time the food was good and the portions huge and we were happy we'd chosen to stay local.

Harold had errands to run so he brought me home and went about his business.  Since I'd already goofed off for the entire morning, I decided to play hooky for the rest of the day.  Weeds in the west field were putting out seed heads and the field really needed mowing to keep them in check (or try).  It's pretty obvious to me that John Dear's previous owner was a man, and not a gentle man at that.  It's been my experience that machinery, vehicles in particular, take on the attitude of their owners.  I once owned a used car that preferred to run at 55 and needed coaxing to go 65 on the freeway.  In John's case, throttle, brake lock, and steering all take more strength than one would expect.  We came to an agreement and spent a good while tootling around in the sunshine before John lied to me.  He actually has a gas gauge, and since we'd not had an opportunity to really get a workout before, I kept an eye on the gauge and he told me there was still plenty (well, enough, anyhow) of gas in the tank.  With possibly two or three more passes to finish mowing the field and at the farthest point from the barn, John quit.  Phooey.  I couldn't fill him up even though I keep gas in the barn.  Clay had nailed up the doors temporarily and I wasn't about to try to take one down.  There was no choice.  I left John Dear out there and hoofed it back to the house. I guess John decided to play hooky, too.

It was a good day.