Sometimes when I get home from work, I want to kick off my shoes, open a book and read.
But the meows, barks, neighs, clucks, and baas beckon me.
Then today, while sitting in the barn on the mounting block,
listening to the rain fall on the metal roof outside,
and to Simon and Garfunkel croon about Kodachrome inside,
and petting my twin orphan lambs,
who at 60-plus pounds are no longer little,
but still, very much mine,
and while watching the Good Mom and her two lambs eat grain,
and promising her that when this bag is gone,
she goes back to grass like everyone else,
I found the chores didn't seem so bad.
Standing, I opened the gate and let Good Mom and her lambs rejoin the flock,
and steered, pushed and cajoled the bottle lambs back to the pen.
Then I resumed carrying buckets of water, chicken food and hay,
and smiled as the radio played and the rain fell,
and the Border collies raced outside,
oblivious to those little moments.