and though he'll never come back she's dressed in black

Some thoughts I want to explore:

It's a pity I didn't live during Jane Austen's time, because the fashions are uniquely suited to flat-chested, pear-shaped girls like me. But boy, wouldn't it suck to be anything but landed gentry in those days?

Reflecting on the animal holes I have dug reminds me that whenever I'm watching, say, a western, and somebody dies, I know they're fudging on the gravedigging scene. Because even if they are strapping youths doing the digging, they're going to be there for half a day AT LEAST, and that's if more than one person is digging. Also I need to choose a different place to bury our animals, because the place we've been putting them is full of potato-sized rocks.

And I got a gallon of milk from Hazel in less than twelve hours. She is the coolest goat we have ever owned.