Ramblings

These little vintage Victorian girls remind me so very much of our own little Veda and Ayla. When I look at them I can't help but think they need to be Girl Scouts or Brownies. I'll have to try to find out if there is a local chapter.
I was late to milk tonight. Got delayed picking up a round bale of hay at my parents house. While there I helped my Mom dig up her Dahlias'. A good job done. My brother actually loaded the 5ft round bale on the truck and was none too pleased about the lack of a strap to tie it down with. I will admit that it was rolling and rocking a bit, but I'm no stranger to transporting these. I already planned to stop at the feed store a buy a few bales of shavings to wedge in between the bale and the cab. Then the bale was satisfactorily stationary. Next time I'll try to bring a strap, just to allay any fears. Honestly between my parents, and my poor brother I think they wonder how I find my way home at all! Yes, I have a terrible track record with the van and inanimate objects on the farm, but I also can do what needs to be done in a complete emergency and have managed to keep everyone alive so far.
I'll take it as a sign of love.
Speaking of love, I have had a terrible time catching Teeny in heat. Time is running out before the girls and the bull are sperated over winter. I really need to get Teeny and Happy bred back. Last night I thought it was a little odd when Teeny veered off the road and walked the fenceline where our bull, Wolfie, was. While milking her she was antsy, and then started in with an incessant, hoarse mooing. Goodness. I hollered at her to put a cork in it, but I guess she couldn't hear me past the din of the milk machine.Yeah, right. Final straw, as we were returning the cows to pasture, Wolfie was just suddenly there at the gate. He is never waiting there. The really frustrating catch is, Wolfie will nurse her. He is 20 months old. So I have to choose, try to get her bred----or have milk. I can't have both like I should be able to. It annoys me to have to make deals like that.
I made potato sausage soup tonight. Ida May adored the milky both. Little rivulets of broth ran down her chin. Bliss.