They were right. The artic front arrived right on time. At 3:00 this afternoon, the pickup temp said that it was 90 degreess. It felt like it. I threw a hoodie into the pickup–just in case. I went fifty miles southeast of paradise to Larry Moore’s to pick up a set of barrows that I bought online last week. He made the comment, “I bet the weather changes before you get home.” He was right. When I got to Vici to grab feed, it was down to 73. And by 6:15 when I got to the ag farm at Shattuck, it was down to 51. And when I made it back to Fargo at 7 it was 45. The wind was howling like a gut shot comanche on an old western movie and the temperature was cut in half.
There are two things that are kind of against my own personal religious beliefs when dealing with goats–1) I don’t wash Duke’s wethers and 2) I don’t blanket wethers. I guess I committed a sin this evening. SInce it was 90 earlier today, the wethers were naked. Duke was gone at 7:30 and the temps were dropping, so I broke down and put blankets on wethers. He made it home, dryly said, “Thanks. Hunh! Didn’t know you knew how to put blankets on?” I think there was sarcasm in his voice.
Had a dude tell me that the enjoyment of reading this blog is similar to watching NASCAR. You are just waiting on the big one. That big wreck and things come unhinged. No big wreck on here tonight.