For this birthday, only the girls were at home (the younger son was at camp and the older one in Peru), but we squirreled away slices of birthday cake for the missing boys and invited the grandparents for dinner and had a jolly good time anyway.

After she finished unwrapping her gifts, I looked at her pile of presents—a mane comb, horse shampoo and conditioner, mosquito repellent, etc—and laughed. “If I’d gotten these gifts when I was your age,” I said, “I would’ve cried. And not from happiness, either.” I don’t think the two of us could be more different if we tried.

That evening before supper, she got goats. They weren’t a gift—she was paying for them herself—but she was so excited about them that she worked Velvet in the mid-afternoon blistering heat just to pass the time until my husband got home from work and they could go pick up the goats.

She named the kids Angelica and Peggy (name that play!). Angelica has a bizarre bleat that starts low and then soars way high in an operatic wail, making us laugh and prompting my kids to sing back. It’s quite the racket.

We gave our daughter cow bells—but no collars, oops—for one of her birthday presents. For one of the goats, she fashioned a collar from one of my husband’s old belts, but for now the other goat is still bell-less.

I’m sure she’ll come up with something soon enough.

This same time, years previous: in the kitchen, the quotidian (7.20.15), statements, whole wheat zucchini bread, shrimp with coconut milk, alfredo sauce.

It’s been nearly six months since Alice joined the family.

I’m not much of a dog person, but Alice is a charmer. I get a kick out of watching her (and then my husband gets a kick out of watching me get a kick out of her). She’s easy to anthropomorphize. Like, when I’m stretching after a run, she’ll stretch alongside me, almost like she’s mirroring me, which she’s not, of course, but it seems that way. And then she’ll flop down on the ground, her nose one millimeter from my sneaker, her bright eyes rolling around in her head, watching my every move. 

She’s cuddly, too. Even though she’s nearly as big (bigger, maybe?) than Francie, she’s not as heavy. She loves curling up in laps like a big baby.

She adores water, and she’s passionate about finding cool places. Case in point, the above photo: splashing water everywhere and then lifting the water dish, sticking her head in the mud under the dish, and then lingering in that bizarre position. On hot days, I often find her dozing at the bottom of the cellar stairs, getting as close to the cool basement as possible.

Also, she naps hard, and in any position.

She has her flaws, of course. She likes to roll in horse/steer poo, so my younger daughter is forever having to bathe her. And even though she doesn’t jump up on people, she touches everything with her wet nose. I hate walking outside and getting a (probably poopy, ew) sloppy nose kiss on the leg.

Also, she camps out in my flowerbeds next to the gate, waiting for us to get back from wherever it was we went. (Which is kinda sweet, really.)

My older daughter is begging to get another dog, but we’ve put our collective foot down. Three dogs is enough, we say (even though a small part of me would enjoy another one, shhh).

This same time, years previous: a tale of two children, all partied up, bacon-wrapped breadsticks, zucchini Parmesan frittata, chit-chat.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (7.18.16), ouch, apricot pie, this new season, the quotidian (7.16.12), roasted beet salad with cumin and mint, Jeni’s best ever vanilla ice cream, pasta with roasted tomatoes and summer squash, counting chicks.