As you know, my family is known for being escape artists. We pride ourselves on living the family motto: if your fence doesn't hold water, it won't hold us.
And I must admit, while I was always very good at getting out of things, including trouble, my daughter Hannah Belle surpassed me to claim the title of Supreme Grand Houdini, once even neatly dismantling a truck canopy when she wanted to get out of solitary F150 confinement. But now there appears to some competition on the horizon.
The farmer has been 'working' somewhere, and gone long days, and during these long days the babies and mothers are supposed to stay in their stalls and not go out, because the babies are too little. Well, that is fine for mini-Nubian babies, they wouldn't think of going anywhere, especially not without their mama, and of course they don't know the first thing about escaping, even if they did want to go somewhere.
And as for the three little priests, they are "good boys" according to the farmer, and that means they have no initiative, and spend their days hopping around like little beans and cozying up with Miss Melly in a cloyingly sweet way like they are waiting for a photo shoot.
But I'm proud to say that when Lori came home yesterday, Hannah Belle was out of her stall (of course) cruising the alfalfa stack in the barn aisle.
And in her wake were my three little grandchildren - Harlequin, Bluebelle and Filbert - fully escaped at the age of five days old. No one knows how they got out.
But it was a new record.