Each evening around 5 P.M. I run the cows out of the electric-fenced enclosure where their hay is and close a makeshift gate to keep them out overnight, fastening the gate shut by twisting some wires. Somewhere between 4:30 and 5:30 in the morning I go out with flashlight in hand, untwist the wires, and open the gate. I don't know why I don't wait until daylight; probably because at that time of day I am so hungry myself that I feel sorry for the poor, starving cows.
This morning my flashlight battery ran out. "I can do this in the dark," I thought.
I crept along very slowly, since the cow-piles are frozen hard as boulders. I'm always aware of my artificial knee, and I don't want to be in any situation where I might fall on it. I made it to the gate, but found out it's impossible to untwist wires in the dark. Anyone else would have either unlocked Cliff's shop and gotten one of his flashlights or waited another hour until dawn. Not me. By this time Bonnie-the-Jersey-cow had noticed me out there and was breathing down my neck, wanting her breakfast.
I suddenly remembered that I once purchased a light that you wear on your forehead, leaving your hands free. I have never used this light, but it was really cheap at the time and I thought it seemed like something that would be useful. Actually I bought a pair of them and gave one to Cliff. He keeps it in the shop and has used it at those times when he needs both hands free, and yet needs some illumination. My little head-light is in a dresser drawer. I never made it that far, though, because as I went past my purse I remembered a marvelous little Swiss-Army-knife-type invention in it that I bought from the same place as the head lamp; the knife has a tiny LED light that folds into it, along with the blades and scissors and other nifty things I never use. With that in hand, I returned to the gate, where there were now two cows impatiently waiting, and got it opened up.
I will be digging that head-lamp out of the drawer later, though. From now on, that's what I'll use on my morning trip to untwist the wires and let the cows in to eat hay. I'm glad I thought of it.