Yesterday, the weather-guessers told us that today, Friday the 13th, would be our last super-hot day; then the cool-down. I checked weather.com this morning, and it looks as though they've decided they were off by a day.
Oh, remember my ill-fated trumpet vine? The one I was almost afraid to plant because it might take over our whole forty-plus acres, the one that got mowed as soon as it started to thrive?
I wonder if I will live to see that trumpet vine bloom.
If Bonnie were a balloon, she'd be ready to pop at this point, and the same goes for her udder. The large udder is what worries me: It appears she is going to be a high producer, which puts her in greater danger of getting milk fever. This is why I'm such a nervous wreck, wanting to get this whole thing over with. I even wake in the night and check on her, because if she goes down with milk fever it will mean an emergency call to the vet. I only have to worry about that for the first few days after calving; after that, there's no more danger of that particular problem until her next calf.
I once had a chihuahua that had puppies; they were about three days old when she started acting lethargic. We took her to the vet, and I told him, "If I didn't know better, I'd think she had milk fever."
"That's what she has," Doc Findley told me. And Cliff had to give her shots every day for awhile; I can give a cow, calf, or horse a shot if I must, but I just couldn't bear to give tiny little Trixie a shot.