We have these walkie-talkie dealios that Brent and I use to communicate with each other. In France they call them “talkie-walkies,” which is very French and oddly cool. Brent had Kevin check the fence we were about to move the girls into. There was a huge break the length of four or five posts. We’ve seen this fence broken before from wild boar or deer, so no surprise there. Brent went out to mend the hole (while Kevin was in digger zone). He talkie-walked in, “I think the fence was struck by lightning.” “I’ll show you,” he says. I’ll show you? I better get Zélie suited up for a pasture walk. A minute later, Brent drives up and shows me some very black looking insulators. Their original white outer had gone a sultry goth black. “ah. I see,” says me. Our electric fence had been struck by lightning which explains the large boomy explosion noise we heard just hours before. Thankfully the zappy zip-zip charger was not zapping or we would have lost that as well.