There I was, wandering around in the pasture, checking every tall stand of grass and cluster of brush for the day-old calf that was hiding somewhere out there in the pasture.
And I saw this . . .
Rosie apparently had a bad itch. Her daughter, one of the twins from two years ago, helped her scratch it.
Actually, she licked it better. It’s a weird way to deal with an itch but I suppose creatures without fingers and opposable thumbs have to work with what they have.
I did eventually find that calf.