So, this little farm is my dream. Not Susan’s dream, but my dream.  She wants to travel, own homes in Australia and France, and be a cosmopolitan sort.  I am totally happy to be here on the farm every night feeding the animals, separating Crowy from whatever hen he is ravaging, giving Sasha her insulin, and then having a drink and a read.  We live separate lives from Monday thru Thursday, but then on Friday, it is a farm free for all!  Farmer’s market in Athens on Saturday morning, with incredible music and a great breakfast and veggies.  Chores that are put off all week, unless we have company.  So, today when she was feeling poorly, there was some need for concern.  Then when she checked into the emergency hospital at Emory, the concern grew.  She/we spent all day there, and she has been admitted.  She should be fine, but this is a lesson that when you tell your doctor that you are in severe pain, maybe they should feel your tummy…..

So, I had to come back to the farm at 9 to give the dog a shot, and feed and put up everyone except the poor-visioned alpacas.

I miss Susan.

She always comes with me to do chores when she is here.  She drags a hose better than anyone.  She soothes the savage Culprit, and the alpacas adore her.  So arriving in pitch black dark on Friday night, the start of a farm weekend, without my person, stinks.  I miss Susan.  I will arise early and go to Atlanta to check on her progress.  Hopefully, she won’t have to have surgery tomorrow…hopefully we will be back up here in a few days, and she can bring her peaceful calm demeanor to my frantic one.  We can sit on the porch and read, or write, or talk.  All the things you realize you will miss if that person is not there…..

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