Two sheep keep escaping from their paddock into the pasture, Gibson rounds them up every day, several times. I think I need another electric wire so they stop leaping over top. Fences are just opportunities to acquire battle strategy, I think.
I trudged along in my wet t-shirt and kilt, dressed in what I consider my own sense of fashion now. I had on my favorite army green canvas kilt, a gray t-shirt, chaco sandals and a knit gray hat. My hair soaked below it but the wool kept the heat in and chill off. My feet got disgusting from the mud and farm but a dip in the well pool had them clean as movie hobbits in no time. I can't say it was all that bad out there: wet sheep, wet dog, wet kilt and wet pigs. Dry Smile.
There are worst ways to spend a Tuesday morning.