Apr. 03, 2003 ~ Lazy, tired, who knows
I just don't have a journal entry in me today, so once again, here are bits from a letter to you-know-who.
I hadn�t planned to take pictures, and it started out innocently enough. Standing there, filling the horses� water tubs, I glanced up and saw that the dogwood on the hill was in full bloom. The light was just right, the tree wasn�t in shadow, and it seemed the perfect time to take a photo. So it was back to the house for the camera, but then it seemed like that tree was so far away, and maybe I should get just a little closer. Well, a �little,� taken a few steps at a time, wound up being all the way up there, practically spitting distance from the tree. That is a long hike, uphill. Probably nothing for you, but your mom is old, according to *your cousin*, who has been telling me I�m old for a good ten or fifteen years now. (He�s even older, though.) Mission accomplished, but� was that a tree down on the fence? It was a cross fence, the one that you, Dad, and *your brother* built, but still, I thought I should check it out. One thing led to another, and the cows thought they�d best keep me company, just in case I had any sacks of feed hidden in my pockets, so I wound up checking the fences with practically the whole herd following me. So much for my peaceful walk in the woods. Before they joined me, though, there was this critter in the brush. It seemed like a large, reddish-brown cat, at first, but it moved like lightning and was very low to the ground. It seemed to run a bit and then stop and watch me, run a little more and then look at me again. It was either a bobcat or a fox, based on its size and color. Wish I could have gotten a better look at it, but it was too fast for me and too far away.
This morning I was standing in the pen, waiting for Sugar to finish her breakfast, watching the cows. One of the older calves was lying stretched out flat, and in general we just don�t allow that. Flat cows are sometimes dead cows, though they are usually just sunning-themselves-and-minding-their-own-business cows. But as it was cloudy today, I was staring at the calf, looking for signs of life, waiting for a tail or an ear to twitch. This weird critter appeared just at the edge of the hay barn. A buzzard? No, it seemed to be an armadillo with big ears, and that thing was moving awfully fast, heading toward the herd. I�ve never known an armadillo to be mean, though this one could have had rabies, leprosy, an ugly disposition and warts. But I kinda doubted it. So I decided to get a closer look, and headed out into the pasture. The �armadillo� saw me, turned tail and ran back to the barn. My big-eared friend was actually not an armadillo at all, but our hateful back porch possum. He is such a little snot, always hissing, drooling, and raising his paw at me like he�d like to rake me with his claws. Nasty beast. He may have to be relocated. To possum heaven, maybe. He kind of worries me. And what is he doing out in the daylight, anyway? Don�t these animals know how to READ? �Nocturnal,� that�s what the books all say. I hope that �he� is not a she, and that she doesn�t have a pile of possum babies out there in the barn.
* -- Changed to leave out names
I am just plain tired. It doesn't matter if I do nothing or stay really busy... I'm just tired all the time.
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