Spotted Fawn Farm

I just ambled down and put up my ducks, geese, turkeys, chickens, baby chicks and hideous guineas up for the night and took a big gander at my garden, which didn’t make me feel like crying, for once. We FINALLY got some rain!
This made Phoebe and me want to mosey up to admire my billion hostas (it’s not a problem if I can stop planting them, which I could, if I wanted) at which time I spied a large armadillo in the pasture. Seizing the chance, I chased him into a corner where I knew I could catch and explain to him how much I need him to be my friend. He, however, demurred and made it through a small area under the fence.
This, in turn, lit a fire under Thing One, who was INCENSED to see such an armored loaf scurrying through his pasture and he commenced a RUN OF FURY around the horses, who were enjoying the gentle twilight. He was further sickened to find me inside his area and did a flamanco dancer’s double take of righteous indignation worthy of a Bessie. (That’s a dance award.)
Not to be outdone, blind and slightly “off” Moon ran just because someone else was running and she knows she looks cute.
All of this was completely unworthy of a video shown to anyone beyond my long-suffering husband, except guess what nightmare began at the end?
FIREWORKS. F-ING FIREWORKS.
Y’all just stop. What utter nonsense.
I swear it’s old people. I can say that because I am old people but with the sense enough to know what this does to wildlife, dogs and people with ptsd, not to mention blind horses, with which we are covered up here. Arrrgh!