Comfort

It was good to see the little front parking lot full at the voting place yesterday and every booth (all four) was occupied.  I had to chuckle about all the fancy electronic voting devices on the news when I saw we had to provide our own pen to darken the ovals on the ballot.  Yup, we're country.

Having skipped a nap (I'm trying hard to get with the new time), it was inevitable that I'd fall asleep in the chair last night and not wake up until midnight.  What a time to remember that I'd not taken the trash down to the big road.  Bessie Anne must have thought I'd slipped a cog, but a trip in the truck is a trip in the truck, so she went out in the dark, too.  I didn't know if it would be better to try to be quiet and be thought a prowler or let people think there was a crazy person emptying trash in the middle of the night.  I opted not to prowl.

Even with a jacket on, it was darned cold out there.  I heated the bean bag to take to bed and couldn't wait for the cats to take their self-assigned places on my feet.  It still took forever to get (back) to sleep and I overslept this morning.  The comforter is going back on the bed tonight.

I haven't seen any election results yet, and am taking comfort in my ignorance for the time being.

Her Brother's Keeper

"Oh, he's done it again."  Celeste must get so irritated with Ralph.  Ralph is very good about using the litter box, but somewhat lax when it comes to the after business.  Instead of hiding his contribution with litter, he'll give a few token scratches outside the box, call it good, and wander off.  Celeste comes along afterward and I can almost hear her harrumph of disgust before she covers her brother's mess herself.  I've considered getting his and hers litter boxes, but there's no guarantee Ralph would confine himself to one.

I doubt Missy has put in a change-of address card, but she was there for both meals again yesterday.  After feeding well for just a couple of days, her ribs aren't nearly so visible.  For a cat, she shows her gratitude well by rubbing up and purring before diving into her dish.  She may take off again one of these days, but I'm awfully glad she showed up again.

I pared down my list so that I could confine my shopping to the east end of town.  Getting to the west side at this time of year takes for-ev-er due to traffic from the many Apple Hill visitors.  There is a section of Hwy50 that runs past old Placerville and it is a bottleneck at the best of times and terrible during apple season...and ski season.

Once the time changes, I have to get to town earlier because I have to get home before the earlier sundown to put the kids to bed.  I did wish on the way home that there were places to pull over on Cedar Ravine so I could take a picture of the light shining on all the colors of the trees:  reds, gold, and different shades of green.  There are pullouts on Bucks Bar, but the trees along there are mostly pine, and they stay green in the fall.

Today is Election Day, and it is up to the voters to be America's keeper.  I have never been as emotionally vested in an election ever before.  Voting is a privilege and a duty, and I hope the nation's electorate takes it seriously.  Count me in.

Whacked

Turns out "whack/ed" is one of those multiple-meaning words that happens to fit my reaction to the time change, which, in my opinion, is whacky (crazy).  It has definitely thrown my system out of whack (order), and I know for sure that I'm whacked (exhausted), probably because I'm up and drinking coffee at the new 2 a.m.  And that's all I'm going to say about that.

I don't know when Missy had her last good meal, but she was in the barn morning and night and emptied her bowl at breakfast and dinner yesterday.  Poor little waif.  She makes me think of Wheeler, the orphan boy in "The Mudlark" (1950, Irene Dunn, Alec Guinness, Andrew Ray), sitting under the table stuffing food into his mouth.

Another feline visitor was not so welcome.  Twice yesterday I heard the chickens go into a panic.  For birds who are normally silent, they were screaming at the top of their lungs.  I know their new cage is secure, but still.  The first time, Bess and I went out to investigate, and a cat (not Missy) took off running.  It's pretty ambitious for a house cat to look at a full-size bird and think "chicken dinner."  Bessie caught the scent and charged off to war.  It was a mistake on my part to let her come with me because my old girl could hardly make it back up the hill.  Back at the house, she flopped down and was nearly comatose the rest of the day.  It scared me that she might have a heart attack   The second time the chickens fired off, I was careful not to let the dog come with.  Fortunately, she never heard the birds.  It was even hard to wake her up at bedtime.  She was whacked.

Can't Help Myself

I'm so predictable.  I swore I would not launch into criticism of the time change this year, my semiannual rant.  It's not working.  Where's that extra hour of sleep they kept promising?  I dutifully turned my clocks back last night...what had been the reasonable bedtime of 11 p.m. became the way-too-early 10 o'clock.  I'm at that stage in life where five hours is a good night's sleep and boink! when the eyes open, I'm awake.  That's why I'm drinking coffee and sitting at the computer at 3:15 a.m.  It's going to be a long, cranky day.  There is a measure on the ballot to allow California to join Arizona in stopping time change.  Want to guess which way I'll be voting?  Yup, you'd be right.

I had plans to do this, that, and the other thing yesterday, forgetting that Saturday is the day to watch back-to-back cooking shows.  That's okay, there'd still be time after the last one to get stuff done.  Maybe not the trip to town, but some stuff.  Then I made the mistake of doing a quick channel flip and discovered that the Breeder's Cup races at Churchill Downs were coming on.  Even more than NASCAR, I love horse racing.  I was pretty lucky with my imaginary bets, especially in picking the winner of the last race of the day.

Guess who showed up to meet me at the barn yesterday?  After such a long time gone, there was Missy again.  I don't know where she's been or why she stopped coming here, but the poor little girl was so skinny it hurt my heart.  Since I quit taking food down for an absentee cat, all I could do was apologize for being empty handed.  Before bringing the goats out, I sat on the stand with her and she climbed right onto my lap, purring loudly.  I hope she gives me another chance today because I will come bearing breakfast, for sure.

NASCAR is running in Texas today.  So much for getting anything done.  Oh well.

Work It Out

As one does given a new situation, it takes a while to adapt and work things out.  Yesterday I figured a way to cut at least one back-and-forth trip while tending to the chickens .  Stanley likes the new pen.  He doesn't have to run as far to catch the girls to get his morning jollies.  I'm not sure the ladies feel the same.

The servants got a workout yesterday.  They washed clothes and did dishes.  I just can't convince them to do the followup.  I still have to hang the laundry and fill the cupboards.  As my father would say, "You'd complain if they hanged you with a new rope."  Sigh.

I have mechanical servants; Bess has me.  Since she has lost her hearing, there's no such thing as an "indoor voice."  If I'm not paying attention or moving too slow to suit her highness, she gives a short, loud bark.  If my mind is elsewhere (and it usually is), it can scare the snot out of me.  "Open the door NOW."  "I want my cookie NOW."  "Boost me up on the bed NOW."  Of course, I rush to do her bidding.  I do what the cats want, too, but they don't yell at me.

For whatever reason, the wild things are slurping up water like crazy.  Their big water pot (several gallons) is nearly empty every morning  That's not unusual in the heat of summer, but it is in this cool weather.  Ah, well, mine is not to wonder why, my job is to keep them hydrated.

Get Used To It

The Delawares seem to be getting used to living in an apartment instead of a big house and having a much more confined yard.  I guess it's one thing when they decided to huddle up together in the coop at night and another when they don't have a choice.  Let's just say they were quite ready to jump out of the Taj in the morning and spent the day outside inspecting their new playground.  They even went in without an argument at sundown.  I'd been worried about that.

I'm still working on a new routine to care for the little kids.  Everything was close at hand in the big coop:  the feed barrels were right there inside and the feeder for the lay pellets hung from a rafter, the gate was just a few steps from the alfalfa, and the water faucet was right outside the pen.  The Taj is at the back of the building down the long side, so it takes quite a few trips to get the chickens set for the day.  Oh well, they say walking is good for you and I might as well get used to it.

It was a couple of degrees warmer yesterday, a really pleasant day, and I took advantage to hang some laundry on the line and even sat out on the deck for awhile.  Bess was in no hurry to come back in the house, either.  The temperature dropped after dark and Ralph climbed into the cat cave at bedtime, something he hasn't done for a long time.

It was a good day.

Make Your Move

A day of company (or a trip to town) followed by a day of rest; that seems to be the pattern anymore, and not much got done yesterday.  The girls had let me know from the beginning that they did not like the dry cob feed.  I did tell them that the sooner they finished the bag, the sooner I could go get them the sweet cob they prefer, but they don't listen to me.  Now we just go through the motions because Sheila might crunch a mouthful or two in the morning before saying she's full and Tessie won't even get up on the stand.  I understand, but there is a problem:  I have real trouble with the weight of the bags, and there is a lack of space in the barrel.  Maybe the chickens would eat dry cob, but it is still in the now-opened sack, which would make it more difficult to move back up the hill.  The goats aren't going hungry because they can fill up on alfalfa and the dry grasses in the pen, but still.

The day-to-day tragedies of late, the political news and constant mud-slinging by candidates for office is depressing.  Looking for some lighthearted relief, I sorted through recorded programs and came across "Goodbye Christopher Robin."  A movie about Winnie the Pooh...that should do it!  Wrong.  It is a beautifully filmed, heart-wrenching biographical story about parents unable to express emotions and the little boy desperate for affection.  Spoiler alert: it did have a satisfactory ending.

I waited until well after dark before putting on my lighted hardhat to go out and move the chickens to their new home.  I was a bit worried about possibly waking and picking up Stanley.  That boy has some wicked spurs that could do some real damage.  Moving the first three went without incident, the chickens hardly opening their eyes.  The fourth had realized she was alone and was the only one who protested being picked up.  I explained it was for her own good and would keep her safe from the wild things, but, like the goats, she didn't listen.  I got them tucked in and put the door in place.  Whew.  All's well that ends well.

It hadn't gotten even into the 70s yesterday and the temperature drops heavily at night.  Doors are shut and the jacket stays on.  Hey, I'm not complaining!

It sure made for a spectacular sunset...a good day.