Meet Ike, Moxie’s new bull calf, Eisenhower, who called the shots on my moving D-Day. He’s healthy and frisky and very cute.
Meanwhile Moxie is so engorged with milk and edema she can barely walk. Her back teats are tiny nubs on a huge, hot medicine ball.
I can milk out the front teats without an issue but I struggle twice a day to get milk out of the back ones. Even my thumb and forefinger can’t get a grip to strip-milk, only producing a tiny dribble. Another bull calf would have no problem, but though I’ve called around I can’t find one. The dairy I regularly bought from in years past has gone out of the milk business.
I have to empty those back teats or Moxie will get sick.
I also have to finish emptying the lake house, put up shelves, find linens, and on and on… the push continues.
Still, this morning a family of ravens was outside our window. They were screaming with delight so I looked out to see what had them enthralled. They were attempting to peel protective plastic (glittering with morning dew) off the roofing pieces stacked in the driveway.
Like a raven, I get tremendous pleasure from the small things.