Today we went in the big meadow again. It was a beautiful Indian Summer day. Then I enjoyed a few minutes in the grain bin.
"That's enough, Millie," the farmer said, although it really wasn't. Then carried me out to sit on the porch in the sun.
Zane Gray wanted to go in the grain bin but he wasn't allowed because grain isn't good for wethers. How sad.
The horseshoer came last Friday. The kindly one who loves dogs, not the gloomy adorable one with the gloomy sayings. The gloomy one does not shoe mules, because he says "a mule will work for a man for ten years for one chance to kick him."
The gloomy one is not that crazy about dogs either, because he used to raise sheep. Dogs are the bane of sheep. Neighborhood dogs, anyway; they are always after the sheep.
The gloomy horseshoer has a saying about that, too, about what to do if a pesky neighbor dog is bothering your sheep. "Shoot him, bury him, and help the neighbor look for him."
The kindly horseshoer would never shoot a dog, even though he raises sheep. He got the sheep so his border collies could learn to herd them. And they did.
Times have been hard, everyone knows that, but the horseshoer has a spring in his step because he got a new dog, a "grand dog." He thinks maybe the new dog is going to be the best dog he ever had, a dog with heart and soul and relentless drive. And biddable but not too soft.
He wouldn't say that if he didn't mean it.
The new dog brings tears to his eyes, just talking about him. "You know," says the horseshoer, who has had dogs forever, "You might get one dog like that in your life."
"A dog who can take you to the world."
Everyone was feeling misty-eyed that day, I guess, because after the horseshoer left the farmer made our border collie, Spenny, sit with us on the porch for a long time, even though Spenny doesn't really like just sitting.
We looked out at the goats in the meadow, just like we did today. It was a beautiful day.