What the Rain Brings With It

It rained today, but not until mid-afternoon. In the morning, we put the Galaxy and Orion, the goats, in with the two white roosters, to graze down their yard. At first the goats were happy in the small field of clover, then they started bleating. I went out and asked, "What." Not so much asking as telling them everything's fine. They looked back at me. I went into the med center to do some work on the computer. After a bit, I heard Julie calling Galaxy as she led Orion by his horns through rain. Goats hate rain--they had sensed it coming.

On rainy days, there's less to do. Our agenda was bird checks on the main flock. Then the rain started and that item was downgraded to lice-dusting them. We had barely started when the rain turned heavy. All of the birds took shelter under the coop and we gave up.
We go back to the med center to fold towels and sweep the floors. We ignore the inside when the day is sunny and the outside calls with our lists and agendas.
The rain clears enough to feed the pigs and have them all come out for dinner, eventually.

Except for the metal trough, dinner is kind of a 16th century painting of a cornucopia depicting the bounty of summer. And it's almost all organic. 

After we open the gate, the pigs don't stand and eat, they're all about going from trough to trough to find the best bits. 

Last night, the ladies of the main flock got watermelon; tonight's gift from the pigs' produce is cantaloupe. 

The day started off as summer and devolved into early fall, with the rain bringing in the cool. The rust and gold leaves are lurking behind the green, no matter that it's one day after summer solstice.
It happens when it's not officially happening.
The clouds are thick and when Sophie comes in to the med center, she looks at the clock and says, "Oh it's only 6:30."
It's all a surprise, but none of it is to our bones. Like the goats, they know what's what.
I went inside, when the signs of rain were all around me. Orion and Galaxy knew.
But then, the animals always seem to be saying, "Listen."
And most of the time I don't, but it all is different when I do.



An Addendum to the Day:

Goats hate rain. And pigs don't like it that much. Except for Pete.

Still wearing zinc sunscreen from yesterday, Pete gets up by himself in the mud (miracle!) and heads out for a stroll. 

He roundly ignores me, my thumb and my poor photographic skills. 

A pause to graze and reenergize--think dixie cup of Gatorade during a marathon. 

Mid-field. 

Way out in the field, closing in on a Personal Best for distance covered in one go. Sophie is off-camera, cheering--only she knew that hidden in the overweight, non-walking body of the pig who came to the farm two months ago was the soul of an elite athlete.