Guess I don't pay attention to what I tell myself because I haven't blogged more. Things happen every day, good, bad, neutral, interesting, boring. I wish I'd write more because there are things I shouldn't forget, things that change gradually until they're gone and you didn't notice them leaving, things that you hate that disappear and you forget, things you love that fade.

Here's one thing: the other day I saw a young bird on the ground, a meadowlark I think, with two of the dogs stalking it. I went over and told the dogs to desist, and the bird flew up and landed on my arm. I held as still as I could, and after a few moments it flew off. I can still remember the feel of its little toenails digging into my forearm. It seemed magical, though.

Okay, that was the sublime. Here's something earthier: last night Lasca threw up the number eight. She was heaving and I went to her to see if she was ill or just getting rid of something indigestible, and she vomited half an orange sheep ear tag with the number eight still on it. Don't know if it was 08 or 18 or 28, but here's evidence that ear tags don't break down in the canine stomach.

I have been fretting with the appearance of thunderstorm clouds around us every afternoon and our hay still down and unbaled. It is causing a low level anxiety that I would like to have relieved by seeing the hay stacked in the barnyard! We are running out of hay quickly and I'll have to go buy some in a day or so if we don't get ours in. I may have to buy some grass hay anyway to transition the animals to the new hay if it is rich. The work sheep broke out of their pen this morning and ate the last half bale of alfalfa I was saving for the horses. Guess they were tired of getting grass hay and cubes lately. Sheesh. Want the hay situation to resolve.