Where my calves spent the night

When I went out to feed the cats, I saw Jenny laying atop a pile of manure that eventually will go to my garden.  By the time I came to the house, got my Ipad, and returned, she was standing up, stretching.  Queen of the (poop) mountain.  
I wandered over to see if the older babies were in their hutches, and indeed, they were.  They each seem to choose the very hutch in which they were raised.  Home sweet home, I guess.  There's nothing to keep them there, the gate to the lot is open.  It must feel good to be out of the wind, even if you have to lay in manure.  

 Hello, Grace.

Hello, George. 

There's no picture of the little Jersey/Whiteface calf, Crystal, because she was at the hay-ring with Bonnie, her mother.

Those hutches shouldn't even still be there, but by the time I decided I was ready to have them moved and stored away until I decide to raise another bottle calf, winter showed up in earnest and froze them tightly to the ground.