Laddie was afraid of Dad and Raphah. With good cause, too: they kicked him out of their way on a regular basis, and then when he began to act fearful, they'd try to catch him. Evasion, as far as Dad was concerned, was just as unacceptable as bad behavior. The dog I'd chosen was smart, though. He hollowed out an area for himself beneath the tool shed, and could slip underneath it in a jiffy the moment he saw any men, without waiting to see if they were after him. He hid far in so that even when they tried, they couldn't reach him. Other than this, Laddie's behavior was exemplary. He didn't bark as Bandit had, never showed any aggression. He was intelligent enough to learn not to come into the garden; he just sat at the edge and waited for me until I was done working. Daniel sent me regular updates on Lassie, said that she was a blessing to the entire neighborhood.

Coco had yet another litter of kittens, and one of them had a beautiful form. I selected and kept this one. Johnny was a rich brown colored tabby, not the usual lackluster gray brown that most tabbies have. His body was long, lean, elegant, superbly feline. His personality was just as agreeable as his appearance. There was only one catch: Dad said that we were getting rid of all the tomcats, every last one of them. If we wanted to keep any male cats, they had to be castrated. We couldn't afford a vet. Raphah was devoted to Max, his orange tabby. I wanted to keep Jonnny. I read back through the Mother Earth News magazines in castration, paid close attention to the part about elastrator bands. Then I found the smallest rubber bands in the house and banded Johnny first, then Max. Johnny didn't mind much, and he healed quickly without any ill effects, but Max was an adult. He peed all over me while I worked, and then he tried to bite the band off. I had to replace it within a week or two. When the band finally did its work, he was left with a fistula. But at least we still had our cats.

Until Denny Driver came along again. Dad still thought we had too many cats, and of course, Max and Johnny were the ones he gave to Denny Driver. Raphah and I were relieved when, a few weeks later, Denny Driver decided he was going to reconcile with his wife, and gave us our cats back again.

Snow, the goat I'd purchased the fall before was delivered now that we were set up in a bigger place. She quickly assumed the dominant role in the pen of goats, as she had been the queen in her prior herd as well. The pen was made of four 2X4 panels tied together at the corners with baling twine. The gate was secured with a loop of twine that slipped down over the uprights of two panels that made the corner used for opening and closing the pen. The panels were only about four feet high, and today I am amazed that these short pens kept our goats in, that none of them jumped out.

The first time I tried to lead Snow out to pasture so I could tether her out, she took off like a banshee was after her. I was afraid she would run away and be lost if I let go of the rope, so I hung on even though the sudden lurch had yanked me right off my feet. Over the road, through the pasture, into the brush at the edge of the woods, she hauled me on my belly. I was raw, irritated, and unimpressed by the time i finally got her tethered out. I wrote Daniel to say that if I ever found myself in possession of $35 again, I was not going to waste it on a goat! She wasn't affectionate or even friendly. She just tolerated me. I wondered why on earth I had ever wanted something as obstinate as a goat.