He figured he should probably do an oil filter change, and to do that, he would need to change the oil. He didn't expect the oil would be very dirty, so he was surprised when he drained one quart of black sludge from the tank that should hold six quarts of vegetable oil colored liquid.
Oops. I don't know exactly how we got so behind on our truck maintenance, but it's a wonder and a blessing that he survived his trip yesterday, and we feel aglow with the truck in MUCH better working order. I can even hear that it sounds better.
The weather reached the forties today. We suspect that the several days we've just survived with weather hovering below 34 is unusual for this time of year. Phil said that several people in the auto parts store were commenting on how their diesel fuel gelled, and they had no idea it would do that. Maybe they both purchased diesel engines for the first time this year, or maybe it's just been surprisingly cold.
In any case, I decided to drop to one milking a day. I got all bundled up last night and headed out, with my headlamp, to milk Bianca at 6:30pm. Bianca was lying on hay, ruminating, and my tugs on her lead and pushes on her rump were not compelling to her to get up. And I realized, I have no reason to keep up twice a day milking. Whether I get 11 pounds of milk a day or 7, it's not that big a deal to me anymore. We have enough we can drink, and will probably acquire enough to spray our land before her gestation is over. I will welcome the extra half hour a day, and she, I'm sure, will welcome being allowed to stay nestled in the hay after the sun goes down.
Buttercup grieves for her lost companions. We came out yesterday afternoon to find her lying right on the edge of the pen, gazing balefully out, the picture of abandoned loneliness.
Pathetic. The good side is that she is very friendly now. I went into her pen and rubbed her back. I haven't felt very comfortable in the pig pen in months: three animals, who all outweigh me and have much lower centers of gravity and not much sophistication in the area of "we don't bite our friends" made me wary.
But with just lonely Buttercup, she is so thankful to have the company. She and I walked down to look at her hay bale bed, she walking beside me, giving encouraging grunts. We bonded.
Finally, a bit of child humor. Joe speaks more every day, but still not perfectly clearly. He brought me a Playmobil long bow and, with a glimmer in his eye said, "In chin chow." That didn't make much sense, but he repeated it over and over, then suddenly turned it horizontally and began making a sawing motion across the top of a glass.
Translation: "I chain saw."
I don't think many 2-year-olds wander about pretending to chain saw, but I'm glad he's so industrious.
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