Not. It was barely even Friday when my husband and I sat up straight in bed (3 a.m.), listening to something outside screaming bloody murder. Blood-curdling screams. I had been having an extremely strange dream that involved a pigeon morphed out of a hedgehog/centipede, so when John wondered what that was, I told him it must be a pigeon with blue spikes. I still do not have any idea what it might have been, but it was screaming again about a half hour later. John went up to check things out, and all was calm. False security.
When I got out to chores about 5:15, the sky was cold, clear and sparkling with stars, but I also realized that all was not right. Bagels, that bad boy, had jumped the partition in the milking greenhouse and was wreaking havoc, trying to get in with the girls. Pippi is in heat and she was making the poor boy absolutely insane! His collar was missing, and I had absolutely no way to muckle onto the big guy. He had ransacked the milking greenhouse, knocking over the milking stand and leaving poops everywhere. Yay, Bagels, way to go! (And man, does he stink!)
I penned him near the gate that he was trying so hard to breach, and ran back to the house to get John. I knew I wouldn’t be able to muscle him around. John hustled up, and just as he was climbing over the panel I heard him say, “Um, he just jumped in with the girls.” I said some things that weren’t very nice, and he hurried into the paddock and tackled Bagels. Poor dears! I found an old dog collar and got him set up, then we got a halter on that bad boy and encouraged him to come with us. Not an easy task, that’s all I can say. And poor John was rolling around in the paddock with a buck who was very focused on just one thing, and as stinky as they come. We got him settled in the end, but the girls were so upset that I never could get SnowPea to get onto the milkstand, even after I put things to rights. Bucolic and low-key the morning was not!
This afternoon was much better. Calm ruled the end of the day, and I took some time to set up a little bit of a barrier in the milking greenhouse. It’s always something, and there is never enough time to get it done the way I want it to be. Not as young as I used to be might be the reason! Here’s hoping for a quieter night.
(John thinks the screaming in the night was a fisher cat making a kill. I still have no idea, but it did sound more like a cat than anything else. Brrr. Very. Scary.)