One day last week I walked out to the horse pasture, which is on the west side of the trees surrounding the farmyard. When I saw this truckload of bales, it reminded me of —I hate to admit it, but on a bad-hair day, which is most of them—my hair.

The next day I pulled the photo up on the computer screen and called Everett over. "What does this look like, to you?" I queried.

"Your hair," he said. "If you were standing in front of it, you'd blend right in."

Except the bale is missing the low-priced silver highlights in my hair.

And here—

— is the little bugger that pinched my shoulder blade with his teeth when I had my back to him. It could have been worse, I know. I'll keep a closer eye on him from now on.

NP: Everett washing supper dishes

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

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