Tired dogs

My legs, that is. And it really doesn't make sense. After taking Brian to school this morning (Rick had to sew up a cut horse), I chose Bardot to shear. I tried to follow the same plan of attack detach I used with Babette, but struggled to make it work. When I finally looked at the time, HOURS had passed – and I had a half hour before I needed to clean up and leave to get Brian! I quickly texted the mom whose daughter I pick up on Tuesdays to see if she could bring Brian to the park we meet at just five minutes from my house, and she agreed. That gave me JUST enough time to finish Bardot, take a shower, and grab something to eat, and not a minute more. Hence, I got ONE photo:

In it you can see how light the cut side of Bardot's fleece is compared to the tips. In between are varying
shades of almost metallic grey; it really is stunning. I'll have to get a photo of her "naked;" her body looks marbled.

I was inexplicably exhausted, but had promised Brian we would play some disc golf today. We were planning on playing the course on the grounds of the Oregon State Hospital, which we drive by on the way home from school, but Bardot's marathon shearing threw a monkey wrench in that. So after picking Brian up we drove the fraction of a mile to the Wheatland ferry, parked the car, and walked on – and walked through the park to the course, and walked through seven holes. That last hole was surrounded with poison oak, so we called it a day and came home. Of course, I couldn't resist a few more photos:

Headed to bed at . . .