i choose cash
Before I shower and even consider coffee, I need to drench Pidge with her fourth day of Corrid. She's on this routine after vet's orders, and I am hoping it stops her runs once and for all. Friday morning her and Lisette go out of the pen and Atlas goes in. Hopefully she'll recover beautifully out on pasture and hay and be fine for fall breeding. If not, she'll be fine for a french rib roast.
That might sound harsh to some, but to me it is simply how the place has to run. Every day I look out on my flock and beam at the way Knox, Ashe, and last year's Yearling look. That trio is as pretty and strong as any ad in the 2011 Blackface Sheep Breeder's Association's Journal sitting on my coffee table. I know what breeding stock should look like, and I don't think Pidge will cut it. However, I'll do my best to get her there. And if I fail, Lisette will retire to be someone's lawn mower and Pidge will be in the freezer with her fleece in the farmhouse. Future border collie pups will roll on their backs, smelling their first shaggy wool. And if not Pidge, someone's will take that place.
There's no radio on in the morning, not anymore. I used to start everyday with NPR but now I turn on the record player. Johnny Cash is singing Ring of Fire and I sing along. I'd rather start my day singing. I think if Mark in Kristin Kimball's The Dirty Life, who felt the news was nothing but trouble. "It just makes you feel bad and you can't do anything about it anyway." He was right. He also stopped using the word "should" and doing so had made him happier. Yesterday Jon Katz wrote about the angry world of the media, and how it's a choice to be a part of that mess. Be informed, but don't be saturated in it. You'll end up starting your day making angry comments at the television and speeding to work. I can wait till I'm at the office to hear about what starlet has died, or how angry congress is about debt. The farm is too good for that, and my time on earth too short to start my day angry at strangers. I choose Cash.
Annie is spreading her furry stomach over as much floor space as possible in front of the living room box fan. Gibson is upstairs, being Gibson. Jazz is sitting by his dish in the front room. The new table in there has him off his game. He's not sure if it's a strategic coup of the enemy or a new fort to protect his kibble. Canine-ego control of this place is a non-stop battle. Jazz is winning by his riches in dignity. Annie too hot to care. I sing with Johnny.
I'll be out the door for work in about 20 minutes.