55 degrees in August

It is 55 degrees and Dewey Kitty, the cat that has spent the past three months demanding to go outside and only reluctantly coming back inside, will not get off of me.

He slept on top of me overnight. Now, as I work, he won't leave my lap.

The last August day that I remember as this cool was more than a decade ago, when the 13 Buckeye chicks - our starter flock -- arrived.

I worried and fretted that these chicks would get chilled, even though I had the heat lamp plugged in.

I worry less about the Buckeyes now; they are hardy creatures, built to survive.

"Hey," I poke Dewey Kitty who is sleeping on my lap. "You are covered in fur. You'd be just fine outside."

He curls into a tighter ball, sighs and purrs.

Like the Postman

When I told a friend that I was participating in a sheepdog trial over the Fourth, her response was, "So that's why the forecast is for rain."

She is convinced that sheepdog people only trial in bad weather.

In the past few years, I've worked the dogs in several inches of snow, gusty winds, rain, and 100-degree temperatures. Today, I'm packing two pairs of boots, two rain coats, rain pants, hats, and extra socks as the forecast calls for heavy rain.

I've trialed on some mild, sunny days. It's just that weather-wise, those perfect weather days happen less than the rain, the snow, the heat, the winds.

So, we make the day perfect in other ways -- by being surrounded by Border collies, sheep and friends.

A Year Ago

As I break ice from the water buckets and watch the snow fall, I am reminded of how it was a year ago.

Last year we had an early spring and a hot, dry summer.

Spring is not early this year. Today it is not supposed to get above freezing, and the winds are expected to continue blowing hard. The lambs will spend another day in the barn.

And I will look at this photo instead of the weather forecast that calls for more unseasonably cool temperatures.