Wow, but wow. I wasn’t too anxious about the weather today because radar had shown the storms were mostly crossing north of us, although we were on the edge of the line. Flash flood watches don’t worry us much here, although I get concerned when someone has to drive. It had rained off and on, with clear hours between. In the morning I put out the goats as usual; in the afternoon I let out the barnyard crew. With plenty of new hay and expected storms, we left the horses in their pen near the overhang. Then, while I was working on supper preparations in the kitchen, it started absolutely pouring. At first I thought, well, the goats can get under the old chicken coop. But it kept pouring. I better go check on them, I decided. I rolled up my capri pajama bottoms (hey, don’t laugh, it’s stay at home time, remember?) and zipped on a lightweight raincoat and ventured out to splash through water on the way to the barn. It was raining so hard, the water was pooling up just about everywhere. I looked ahead at the old chicken coop—no goats. Praying lighning wouldn’t strike as I snapped open the metal gate, I let myself under the roof and crossed to their barnyard pen—maybe they had let themselves in somehow. Still no goats. The rain pounded so heavily on the metal roof I couldn’t think they would hear me even as I called. Then I opened the gate into the barn center and glimpsed two goats huddled just outside the hay feeder under the entrance ramp/cover. Could the others be under the run-in roof with the horses? As I started toward the manger, I noticed Gabby and Jillian watching with guilty expressions from over near the grain storage buckets to the left, two of the grain lids knocked OFF! Isabel and Jeremy came to me from near the manger. Apparently, they all lept up from the outside into and through the manger—a problem to solve another day. I herded them out of the barn center and they gathered in the isolation stall to the left of the barnyard gate, refusing to go through the rain back to the covered stall. Through a gap in the corner, I could see water gathering on the ground outside which might rise and flood the stall before long. For now, though, I fastened them in and then ran back out into the rain, around the corner to where I had to pull Mary Marie out rear first. She and Honeysuckle were both pretty soaked. I pulled Mary Marie partway until she ran on into the barnyard, followed by Honeysuckle. Perhaps they are both expecting, as I hope, and found the jump up into the manger too hard. By now the rain had slacked off a bit, and I was able to open the stall door and shoo the other four on into the barnyard as well. The covered stall area there has heavy plastic dog houses and the old hay feeder that will help get them up off the ground if need be. When he got home last night, DJ spent a fair bit of time covering the fresh hay bales with thick heavy tarps over some, and pieces of metal weighted down with various items over others. We woke this morning to find the tarps had blown off, although the metal was still in place. Before leaving, Dave tugged the tarps back over the bales, so at least they were covered again for the deluge. As I write, I can see them billow up, then settle back down with the force of the wind. A t any moment, I expect my battery to run out on the laptop; I’ve unplugged most all the appliances and electronics, including the electric fence chargers. (I hope…did I remember to unplug the chicken pen netting as I hurried back to the house?) Hopefully the crockpot won’t get knocked out, at least not before it finishes cooking our supper. Occasionally the wind whistles around the house with shrieks reminiscent of the Ingalls family enduring the blizzards of The Long Winter, but here the trees are leafed out and everything green. Before too long I should venture back out and see if Gabby and Jillian have belly aches from too much grain, and if Mary Marie and Honeysuckle should go into the stall under the heat lamp to warm up. I am SO GLAD for the old carpet remnants we dragged under the run-in roof for the horses awhile back. Some months back— February?—we had been drenched with rain for what seemed weeks on end, until even under their shelter, craters of muddy water formed where the horses stand to eat hay. By the time we found someone throwing away old carpet (thanks to a tip from one of our apprenticeship families) we thought the rainy season had passed for the most part. Still, we didn't hesitate when we finally spotted the remnants one evening on the way back home from town. Sara watched tearfully from her carseat as her mom and I tugged and grunted and heaved rolls of nasty, smelly, yet pretty new-looking carpet into the back of the pickup. My guess is, some poor landlord had to replace carpet ruined by the last renter’s pets before the arrival of a new tenant. Dear Abby, thank you for helping your mom with such a horrid job, when you don’t even like horses! I never could have gotten them up in the truck by myself. Now, the horses’ loafing area is lined with two or three layers of strong carpet, protecting their hooves from mud and standing water. And thank you, DJ, for renovating the hay entrance at the barn last Friday! I was thinking of a quick fix with a few nails and a piece of fence panel cut to the right size. DJ and his helper used that basic idea, but first they replaced a whole section of deteriorated wood and the framing beneath it. I wonder why the goats didn’t shelter under the chicken coop, as they normally do during rain showers when they are out grazing. Were they afraid of being caught on flooding ground? Perhaps they were already invading the barn, hunting for goodies and grabbing hay through the fence panel? I’m so glad I did go out to check on them, hopefully soon enough to head off major issues. Now we’ll have to figure out how to better protect the grain from future rampages. More fence panels, perhaps sectioning off the grain storage area or the manger? Ugh, our son Marc has a point when he complains about troublesome goats. Yesterday our granddaughter appeared yet again around the corner of the bookshelves dividing the living room from the front hall toting a chicken—this time Blackie, the hen she claims as hers. DJ is amazed they keep letting Sara pick them up. I am so glad Blackie is still around, in good health. Sunday night when I was finally able to go make rounds following the evening storms, I found black feathers strewn all around in the hay in the center of the barn. I was afraid Blackie had met her match—perhaps a possum in the barn? I know it wasn’t any of the dogs because they were all cowering in the house. I went with my flashlight and found both of our black hens resting peacefully, Fancy on the corner of the goat stall in the barnyard where she spends nights alongside our two guineas, and Blackie in the red doghouse with Blondie and two of the red hens. I still don’t know what caused the scattered feathers—surely not the cat?—but I’m just happy the hens all seem okay.