Rainy days...

 The forecast called for yet more rain this weekend, but yesterday morning, though overcast, was dry. I took the opportunity to clean all the animal houses. I started with the goat cozy and enticed the little herd into the backyard so I could clean without their assistance. They are not terribly helpful. 

It was hard to concentrate on my work because they were so entertaining, dancing loudly on the overturned kayaks and trying to nosh on my pretty pumpkin. Once their house was clean, I swept the soiled shavings out of the wee Cochin house. When I peeked in on them this morning, I was surprised to see how many feathers littered the floor. The fall molt is in full swing. This means they lose all of their old, tattered feathers and replace them with bright new ones in time for winter. My yard looks like a variety of feather pillows exploded.

From there, I moved to the big coop, hauling tub after tub of old shavings out and to the big wheelbarrow. I filled their feeder and spread a fresh bale of shavings over the floor. The Lavender Orpington pullets hovered outside the door, supervising. 

These recent additions to the flock are growing nicely and should begin to lay eggs soon. They keep to themselves and don't forage around the pasture with the rest of the flock but seem happy enough. They are large birds, and their color is beautiful. Photos don't really do them justice. 

The Owlet has been exploring her artistic side, hauling a little bucket of crayons with a giant poster board from room to room. She plops down to draw and likes an audience. "Sit, Lovey," she tells me, pointing out which chair I should land in. Then she toddles to the front room and drags back a little footstool. "Toes!" she commands, and I put my legs up. Under my watchful eye, she gets to work, concentrating deeply as she lays out waxy scrawls. Despite the dreary weather, it's a colorful life. 

A milking I Shall Go...

 My goats make me happy. I like to look at them in the pasture... grazing, snoozing, leaping, playing. I like to stroke them and feel their sleek fur. And I like milking them. It's a quiet time, the goat happily munching on grain and alfalfa pellets while the warm milk hisses into the pail. It's time for peaceful thoughts; the sweet smell of pine shavings, hay, and healthy animals wraps around me. But lately, milking time has been fraught with peril. 

I had a little wooden stool gleaned from an antique store that I would perch on while the goat, on her stand, enjoyed a meal. That stool got wobbly and worrisome. One day last summer, Chris took over milking chores while I was away. The sad little seat collapsed and broke, dumping Chris unceremoniously as it splintered. He replaced it with a previous milk stool he found in the garage. I had abandoned it because it was creaky and wobbly. Every time I sit on it, I wonder if it will hold me this time. So far, it has, but each time I sit, there is concern. 

Last night, our son-in-love popped in with a twinkle in his eye. "I hear your milk stool needs to be replaced," he said. And gave me this. 

Beautifully handmade by him, the lovely, smooth top is crafted from fine Fir, the legs sturdy Pine. It has been carefully oiled to protect it from the elements. I promptly tried it, and there wasn't a wobble anywhere in that excellent seat. I can hardly wait for milking time. The old scary stool will be relegated to the burn pile, and I can milk away, free of fear, with this handsome seat beneath my rear! 

First story...

 The Owlet is 23 months old. She reliably speaks over 200 words and babbles a lot. She has been chattering on for months, obviously trying to tell us stories, which we all wished we could understand. Today, for the first time, she told me a story I could quickly interpret. 

Recently, she and I were out in the pasture with the goats. Shine, the baby goat, was dancing about and trying to play with the Owlet. She called out, "Shine!" in a happy little voice, obviously enjoying our outing. Shine then knocked the toddler down, and giggling ensued. Then she jumped on the Owlet's head, which was not quite as popular. 

The next time we went out to the pasture, I asked Pop Pop to carry her so no goats would topple her. The baby regards her Pop Pop like a groupie would a rock star. (It may have something to do with the fact that he happily fulfills any request she can make clear to him.) He scooped her up, and she could admire and pat the goats safely. He gently set her down in the milk room while I was milking, and she was able to watch the process with great interest. A wonderful time was had by all. 

Today, we were sitting outside, and the Owlet saw the baby goat. She said, "Shine!" Then she patted her head, reminding me of how the little goat had climbed on her. Then she put her arms up as if asking to be picked up. "Pop Pop, hold you." She said, her face alight with happiness.  She was clearly telling me the saga of how she was gently carried out to see the goats from the safe height of her hero's arms. 

It was a good story. There was action, drama, a damsel in distress, and a knight in shining armor to save the day. I can hardly wait to hear more of her tales.