It isn't just the rain getting us down. We have had a couple of bad days.
It seems kind of babyish to complain about our little troubles with the world in the state it's in. Really it is just a hill of beans.
But it is our hill. And our beans.
Pinky got very sick. It seemed she might die. But she pulled through. So that was good.
But then she went into labor early, and had two kids, a beautiful little pink girl and a chubby little tri-color boy with silver roaning around his ears.
The little girl died without ever opening her eyes. She couldn't breathe properly.
Pinky turned weak and vacant again, and she wouldn't eat or drink anything. The farmer gave her electrolytes and calcium every hour until she finally started nibbling some fir leaves.
The farmer took Pinky's son and was going to make him a bottle baby. He had been as quiet as a mouse. But when the farmer picked him up he started bawling like a fire engine and Pinky jolted wide awake for the first time since she got sick.
She got up and ran over to the farmer and started licking the baby.
"All right you can keep him," said the farmer. "If you eat your alfalfa."
Pinky ate her alfalfa.
Pinky's son is called Silver.