Rain Keeps Falling

We are thankful for our well cut-off switch. Someone who shall remain nameless forgot to turn off the water to the cows one night. The next morning I commented that we had horrible water pressure. The well had run almost dry and, as it should, cut off. Then it had the chance to recharge so by the time we turned off the hydrant, the well was ready to go again.

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday it rained intermittently, sometimes heavily. Happily we only had to milk once in the rain. We pulled Belle into the big blue barn. She was not happy with the drum of the rain on the roof; she was not happy being tied to the concrete mixer. After ten minutes of fighting a dancing cow, Phil pulled her head right up to his chest and held her like that until I was done. Horns two inches from his face: a bit of an intense time.

Phil spent some time cutting down the rye. The boys put some of the cut rye into the calves' pen, and today Elle gummed some of it. She didn't swallow anything, just chewed it well and spit it back out. So cute!

What was less cute was my milking experience this morning. Belle had spent the night grazing the regrowth of the rye, all flush, green growth. Cows love this, but it gives them the runs.

Whether Belle couldn't quite get her tail out of the way, or because she spent the night resting in an old cow pie, or because the rain had left everything rather sopping, I eyed askance her soggy green tail end, usually a beautiful blonde.

I was right to be disgusted. Perhaps she decided to enjoy cow revenge, or perhaps the flies were biting especially early today, but for whatever reason, the tail hit the back of my head again and again. (Never had that happen before.) And right at the end she improved her aim and hit my face a few times for good measure.

I showered after I was done.

Today, with the sun out, he spent hours trying to finalize the purchase for flooring and ceiling materials. Once finished, he headed out to lay block, and finished the fourth corner. No more corners to do!

Our bull has decided to join an opera. He has been bellowing (what feels like) around the clock for the last three days. He looks fabulous; nothing appears to be wrong with him—he just feels the need to express himself. Loudly. Constantly.