The Weather Report

We were up by 6:15 this morning as J. was invited to drive to Denver, Colorado with his twin brother.  They intend to spend two days strolling around a Ritchie Bros auction. Their 12 year old g-nephew has gone along to keep them in line. 

As I sipped my coffee, looking sleepily toward the bird feeder, I caught sight of a doe under the disheveled branches of a willow on the far side of the pond. I hurried for my camera, while J. called excitedly, "Her fawn is on this side of the pond.." The morning was so grey/white that the flash activated creating a blur on the window.  The fawn hung about, probably eating the cracked corn our renter has been putting out. This is my only decent snap of it.

Charlie decided to entertain us by performing up on the kitchen area ledge. Doesn't he appear hulking and ferocious?  [He is really a clown.]

Charlie comes down a level to the top of the fridge in order to converse with J.

With Charlie back on the ledge, J. prods him gently with the broom handle. Charlie's daughter, Jemima, loves to race along the edge "meowing" loudly. This is but one example of why we are wary of displaying collectables.  The cats' territory has few boundaries.

By noon the sun broke through, but, oh dear, it is cold. The weather page forecast today's high as a minus 4. I drove to town at 2PM, tires squeaking on the frozen packed snow. The digital thermometer outside the pet supply store read 2 degrees above zero.  When I left the shop at 5:15, the parking lot was nearly dark, and my car's windshield was frosted. Huddled shivering over the steering wheel, I started the engine, and observed that the outside temp read-out on the dash was a minus 1. By the time I reached the stoplight on the edge of town the reading was minus 5, and as I crested the hill it dipped to minus 9. [For UK readers, remember this is Fahrenheit temps.  Using an online Fahrenheit to Celcius converter, I find that our "9 below zero" works out to a minus 22 C. ]

 I struggled in with sacks of cat food and litter, my spoils of several warm sweaters from the second hand shop, the mail. With each trip into the kitchen the cats inquired if I was ready to dish up their tea. Telling them to be patient, I pulled on my Carhartt bibs, snow boots, yanked a ridiculous fleece hat down to my eyebrows, layered on a vest.  All this merely to walk to the pasture fence and put several pads of hay in Pebbles' feed bin. J. took down the electric fence which has penned her into her "starvation lot" for the past six weeks. The grass is long dead and now covered with snow, so it seems safe to allow her a greater range. I had to call several times before she could tear herself away from the lower pasture and her long postponed gossip with the horses kept in an adjoining lot.

Back inside to switch on the kettle, feed the cats.  I don't want to know how cold it is outside now!

SIL phoned to tell me he was forwarding his best deer photos of the day. This buck was with his tribe on Mortimore Lane.  M. on a service call, took these through the van window.

When the buck had cleared the fence and loped a safe distance into the pasture on the other side of the road, he turned back as if to taunt M. by his dramatic get-away.