BD is back.
This afternoon in the broad daylight the farmer came outside and all of us were crammed into a corner of the upper pasture, all faced in the same direction with our backs against the barn, all staring at the same thing.
BD.
BD was all the way up at the down-below feeder. The farmer went in the tack room and came out in a hurry, meaning business, with the rifle.
The farmer got three shots off, none of them coming anywhere near BD, who took off like a blue dart, knowing the difference right away between a pellet gun and a real rifle. The farmer sat outside with the rifle for twenty minutes, peering out at the tall grass, but BD knew better than to show his whiskers.
"All right," said the farmer, and unloaded the rifle, and started walking up to the barn.
Halfway up there came a not quite distant enough sound from two farms over. A big ruckus of squawking chickens.
"Uh oh." said the farmer.
Then we all had to stand still for a head count, as if even BD would tangle with a tanker truck like Betsy. The numbers didn't come out right and the farmer hollered for Izzy.
"Where is Izzy?" yelled the farmer. Nobody answered, we were all still rattled, but I looked around because after all it was a very good question.
The farmer could see I didn't have Izzy and started looking around at all the milkers, but then Penrose took a little step to one side, showing Izzy huddled in a tiny seam between her and the wall of the barn.
Good old Saint Penrose.
