Wow, just wow.

So, I was WIDE awake last night from approximately midnight until 3 a.m.

I don’t know why.

It could have been Hubby’s snoring or the fact that the dog was being generous and giving me 5-inches of the bed. Every time I moved the dog would grumble.

I mean, really?

I decided to get up and fold laundry, go outside to push up feed and check on the cows.

It was all rather boring. I didn’t match the corners on the towels, it’s really quiet at that time of the morning and none of the cows looked ready to have a baby calf.

I played several games of Solitaire and didn’t win a single one.

I finally fell asleep a few hours before it was time to get my butt out of bed – 6:30 a.m.

Steve was going to a meeting and I wanted to send him off.

Surprisingly, I feel really good today.

I thought my day was moving along just fine – and it’s already 8 a.m.

That was until I decided to get ready to run into town to visit the accountant and banker.

I carefully put a quarter-sized dollop of hair gel into my left hand.

I then proceeded to rub it all over my face.

All the while thinking, “Hmm, that smells different this morning.”

Eee gad!

I may need a nap later, but at least my facial skin will hold it’s shape! (Yes, I did wash it off, but it feel like there may be a residual affect.)

Does my skin looked toned?
It should!

The Queen, Steven and Diggy-Diggy

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Me, jealous Ole and Diggy-Diggy!

So, I have been in a historical-fiction groove for some time.

Recently I watched a documentary on the Royal Family.

It has occurred to me that my husband can be a wee bit like Queen Elizabeth.

She makes a lot of decisions based on how it will affect the “Crown.”

I mean, who needs to deal with emotions?

She leaves emotions at the back door, because, you know, she never uses the front door.

My husband has a tendency to make decisions based on our “crown” as well.

That crown would be our dairy business.

Feelings be damned!

This morning we had a beautiful heifer calf born shortly before the start of chores. I was on the schedule to be outside at approximately 6:30 a.m.

I walked into the milking parlor and noticed there were four milk bottles in the carry-all, instead of just two we had last night.

“Really?” I said. “We had two calves born over night?”

“Yep,” Steve replied. “The one is doing just fine, but the other one it a little off. I am not so sure it’s normal.”

I walked up to the calving barn and, sure enough, that one calf didn’t look quite right.

It was laying out on its side, the tip of its nose was chilly and it looked like it had just finished smoking a doobie.

I returned to the milking parlor to retrieve the bottles of colostrum to feed, Diggy-Diggy.

Yep, I named her after Stephon Diggs. I saw a shirt with this printed on it and knew I was going to name a calf that. I am assuming there are going to be a ton of animals and humans named Diggs. I like to be unique. I mean, who is going to name their son or daughter Diggy-Diggy?

I knew I would have to feed Diggy-Diggy using an esophageal feeder, she hadn’t even tried to lift her head yet.

I gathered my needed equipment and headed over to my baby calf.

She was still spread out and on her side. It was not problem moving the feeding tube down her throat and into her tummy, she didn’t buck one bit.

“I am going to fill your tummy Diggy-Diggy,” I said.

After her feeding I remembered that momma cows will lick the heck out of their babies.

I grabbed two handfuls of fresh, golden wheat straw and started rubbing Diggy all over. I rubbed her soft belly. I scrubbed over her ribs that fell like a washboard. I even scratched behind her ears and rubbed my knuckles in the space between her eyes.

When I did scratch behind her ears, she leaned into my hands like I was the cat’s pajamas!

I even gave Diggy-Diggy my warm Columbia coat.

I wanted to give her all the warmth I could.

Remember I said there were two calves born. I knew I had to feed “Whitey.”

I took off my Columbia parka (the warmest coat I own) and threw it over Diggy.

I had other work to do, so I had to leave my Diggy, but when I returned, she is trying to stand up.

All she needed was a wee bit more tender loving care! I dressed her in a calf jacket, and promised to come back after my remaining chores!

At that point, I was in love with Diggy. I dread the day she has to move to the heifer raiser.

I asked Steve if we could keep her here. I pulled out all the stops: huge smile, sparkle in my eye, told him how sweet she would be, I could keep her with Tiny and Gastón, etc.

“Can we compromise?” he asked. “We can keep her here until she is weaned and then she can go to the other farm.”

Bloody hell, you might as well tell me “no” right now. Why wait six weeks? That would be like ripping my right arm off, because we would become so attached!

Next time I think I may have to ask him while I am naked! That way, I would appeal to his emotions. No straight-laced business decisions then.

I would do it for the crown.

Diggy-Diggy will go to the other farm, eat and be happy. She will return home a few months before she is going to have her own baby – like 22 months from now!

I will remember her. I hope she remembers me!

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