That’s not a flurry of moths, it’s snow. Nothing is sticking and I suppose by Midwest American standards, I should quitmabitchen. Brent has been doing his water hose draining routine ( whoa, that was not a potty reference ) to beat the night frost. So far, the water has drained and with a tweak here and there, the herd gets their fresh water. They don’t drink much in the morning. Lately, they’ve been sleeping in, warming in the early morning sun. Brent, after setting up the temporary fences and rolling out the hay, calls them through and waits while they slowly waddle to their next strip of fresh green grass. I suppose they are not far from birth. Girl, I feel your weight.