It is another clear and crispy fall morning. Buster had disappeared for a couple of days, but he was back on the front porch when our dogs went out at dawn. There is also a little white twerp of a dog hanging around hoping that Gwen will notice him. He is some kind of terrier cross and a real sweetie pie. How he thinks he is going to romance tall Gwen, I don’t know. His legs are all of three inches long and he weighs about fifteen pounds.
When I was combing Dolly, the Twerp was right there too, so I combed him out as well. He must be used to such ministrations because he didn’t protest, even when I pulled his hair a bit. As I brushed him, I noticed that he was shivering and thought he was cold, though some little dogs seem to quiver all the time. I have a crochet pattern for a dog sweater and thought about whipping one up for him, but it would probably take too long and he will have gone home by the time I finished it. Wouldn’t that be funny if he went home to his owner sporting a new sweater? The Twerp has been here for a week and I know he has had nothing to eat, so I let him come in for a meal, to Michael’s great surprise. Michael would have even the horse in the bedroom when it is cold if he could figure out how to bring him in, but I am usually ruthless about animals in the house. The Twerp still had no interest in food, so out he went right away. Dolly is delighted that there is a dog smaller than she is, and she tortures him mercilessly. He puts up with it and never do I hear a growl or see a curl of his lip. And, that little sad terrier face of his endears him to me.
When I went up to feed the goats at dusk, I found them in the Old House’s barnyard, one pasture away from where they were when I last saw them. They must have remembered the hole in the fence down in the bottom, but instead of coming all the way to our house, they went back to the other big barn for the night. I think they prefer that structure to the topple-down shelter on the hilltop, but their feed bunkers are in the hilltop pasture, so I opened the gate. All but one little doeling, Ice, followed right through. Ice just stood there looking at me from ten feet away. The ever-cooperative Annie appeared at my elbow, so I took her back through the gate, knowing that Ice would follow another goat, even if she wouldn’t follow me. This trick worked eventually, but tried my patience in the nonce.
About five gallons of small apples remain from the harvest and they sit in a big bucket near the back door to stay cool. After a month or two, they are starting to get a little rubbery, though they still taste great. Whenever it is time to feed the horse, I pick up two apples and let Turbo take them out of my hands. He loves his sweets.