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.