Welcome to the funny farm...

Oh, what fun and games tonight at Lazy Bee Farm!

I had to run errands today which ran much longer than planned. What is it about "significant snow" that translates into "go to the grocery story and fight over the last loaf of bread and gallon of milk"? And I wasn't even AT the grocery store. It was just the traffic! Anyhow, when I got home, it was just at feeding time and everyone was fussing.

I hurriedly changed to my barn clothes, made up my udder wash, loaded up the bag washin' cloths, and tossed some old bread into the chicken's bucket. Then, I grabbed the cats' food and flew to the porch to feed Lydia, Waldo, and Tiggie as well as the King and Queen, Moose and Anabelle (the dog, not the goat; confusing, I know). Lydia leapt to the table where the cats eat and was devouring his (yes, he is a he) food. Then, I noticed that he was missing a lot of furr on his back and had what seemed be bite marks. Upon closer inspection, he appeared to have been a few rounds with something with very sharp teeth.

After a telephone consultation with the vet, it was decided to bring Lydia in for a rabies booster, just in case. This meant delaying everything -- hay, feed, and milking -- for at least two hours, the time it takes to just drive to the vet's office and back. After waiting an hour to see the vet, Lydia was diagnosed with a skin disorder, given two shots, my grocery money was seriously dented, and we were on the way home.

In the meantime....

Don had gotten home and was feeding and filling the hay racks. Nothing had gone right. I had left water running at the barn last night and the ground was slick with very saturated mud; the does were cross and banging the fence; Mary, one of the pygmies, had managed to get caught between the fence and mend in the fence; Louie, March, and Mo (buck and wethers) had gotten in the cows' feed and were being bad boys, in general; the chickens were fighting; the ducks were fussing; and, with the weather change, Don's shoulder was talking up a storm to him.

It was not pretty.

So, in an effort to calm things down, I took the extra feed bucket from the bucks, put it over the fence, and went to feed the does, all the while trying to cool Don down a bit. Then, it got worse.

The bucks pushed open the gate and took off with Hollie, the cow, after them. Don managed to catch the goats, but Hollie was relishing her freedom. She kicked up her heels; she ran; she slid; she yodeled. Copper, her son, was bellowing from inside the fence, but she just didn't care. We tried to lead her in with feed. Nopers. We tried to put her lead on. Nopers. We tried her treats. Nopers.

Then the dogs decided they could help by chasing her down the road.

And it began to snow. Hard.

Thirty minutes later, Hollie was finally in the fence, the goats were fed, the dogs were allowed out of prison (read: kitchen), Copper was nuzzling his mother, and Hollie was smiling (I know she was) over her escape.

And I will never leave home again at feeding time.