I had assumed I’d get out of working a dozen head or so through the chute. After all they was enough bodies about I figured I wasn’t needed. Besides I was taking every opportunity I could even gleam to finish putting the Cushman back together. I wanted my buggy back.
I had managed to install, hook up, and adjust the parking brake, before the cell started massaging my chest. Digging it out of the depths on my bib’s zippered pocket and found it was Bro’. “What could he want,” I thought to myself as I reluctantly but had to as these cussed cells are my wife’s insisted upon continuous communication minimally keeping each of us in touch emergencally wise like. “Hello!” says I. Says he, bring me white button tags in my garage. They’ll likely be in a bucket in the ranger or on the floor.” “Yeah. Okay.” said I. I didn’t see them in a bucket either place. Cell to the rescue again, ”Maybe they be in a box on the old work bench?” They were, I was on my way, closing up the shop, and on the road.
It wasn’t so bad neglecting the Cushman for a little while. I enjoyed the animals, especially the vet is hand in the may-lay checking all the hopefully pregnant yearling heifers going to the production sale. He’s about my age giving no sign giving into retirement. Only thing’d put him out to a pastured end’d be a broken limb limiting his getting around the big animals. He’s one crusty frosty haired old gentleman who cares for the animals.
The animals taken care of, to even invited to staying over my place until Tuesday next when they’re tails are read for their TB tests. No studying involved, just a pin prick under the tail peeked at.
Next agenda was a mixed one changing at dinner time. Barry had finally fulfilled his 8:00 AM promise to give me a hand. The earlier recharged air tank was put to use to air up a borrowed gravity wagon’s tire to take to shop for a tire fix (and remove our added gable ends last summer for stored grain cover), and return it to its rightful owner with my thanks. A next stop we latched onto the bred heifers ground feed wagon to keep this visiting gang fed. Thinks getting caught up it were time to keep moving on.
Barry wanting some tractor time, who was I to deny him. I could let him rake that hay I had cut the day before. (Hehe!) With more connived free time I could get back to my Cushman buggy. (Hehe!) That was if it were done right?
Equipment moved, transportation provided for,, I turned Barry loose. Wasn’t a bad idea until Barry had run out of gas. I had to make a fuel delivery. What the Heck. Can’t have everything we do run smoothly. Goof taken care of I tinkered with Buggy until my mind went dead my loosing it when it came to adding oil to the transmission and engine. Sitting down, no relief from my confusion I closed up/locked up the shop and pulled into my drive at quarter to sundown, ate my supper, and soon fell asleep. I’d had a full day. “Rainbows.”