We Meet Butch's Friends

After church, we had a little downtime and went to Scottsville where we found a park! A little community park with swings and playset. We had three such parks in walking distance in Boulder, and I think the children missed that play equipment; they enjoyed themselves immensely.

Then we went to a party with the Rotary Club, guests of neighbor Butch. I've never been to such a party, but Phil thought it similar to parties his parents went to in the military. A lot of talking and laughing, open bar, live band and occasional dancing. Oysters and clams, both fried and steamed on the shell.

We were close to the youngest ones there. Butch is in charge of the parties this year (I think he was invited back because his parties last year were so good). For the littles he had rented a jumping castle complete with little climbing wall and slide. The children all went around and around—even Joe, who chortled with glee as Jadon helped boost him up the climbing wall, and chortled some more as he plunged headfirst to the bottom of the slide.

Bubbles, funny putty, potato chips, and strawberries rounded out the happy times for children.

I understand why celebrity farmer Joel Salatin always tried to get speaking engagements at the Rotary Club. Should the Lord allow us to grow copious quantities of top quality food, the Rotarians we met have the money to pay for it.

Back home, Abraham won the egg hunt. He proclaimed, "I found an egg!" about twenty times before he went to bed. And since it was the only egg, and he found it just lying on the ground, I understand his excitement.

Isaiah gladly told me that "Strangey is a rooster!" He heard him crow. I've suspected it for some time (would a hen have fancy iridescent feathers on her tail?), but he had restrained his signature call until this evening.

I had a little time to sit and think about our animals this evening. Annabelle has a sore teat; it looks like a kid has been chewing on her. (Her other teat is not quite as "chewed up" looking, though it has spots that look sore.) I don't think it's the dreaded mastitis, as her bag (udder) feels fine to the touch. But the scabs can't feel good. I tried a salve and athletic tape wrap in the night, but I don't know that it did much good.

Then I thought about black ewe Isabella. She has three bald patches. The book said that wool loss comes from a nasty internal parasite; she has none of the other symptoms, though. Phil and I have the gut feeling that she's simply having late pregnancy hormonal issues.

And, to prepare for the arrival of the animals, I watched a DVD on linear measurement. I was curious how stockman actually measure the circumference and length of a bull's testicles. It seems a dangerous proposition.

They put the bull in a headgate: a tiny fenced spot where the bull cannot move in any direction. I'm not sure how they persuade the bull not to kick them as they palpate the testicles from the rear, but they managed it somehow.

The DVD also showed the collection of sperm so they could analyze the quality of the semen. There is nothing natural about that practice. Phew!