The other sign of spring is that Billy, the dairy farmer between us and the village has let his dairy cows out into the fields this morning for summer.
The cows' first day out is a joy to behold. They've been in the dairy barns all winter, eating silage and pellets. Now they're let out onto the new season's grass and open air. You should see them leap about in the first few hours. They skip around like they're calves again.
Naturally this means that if I don't time things right, I'll be stuck behind my neighbor moving his dairy cows to or from the milking parlour. I actually don't mind this too much. If I get any cow slobber on the car, it comes right off. Sadly not everything comes off easily. Cow dung, dried onto your car is a real tough thing to get off. It sticks like glue!
Before The Man of the Place and I were married and he was looking for a house to buy for us, I said that I didn't want to live more than five minutes away from cows. It's not that I'm really nuts about cows, but it was the closest guideline I could think of for measuring how rural a house might be. If I was under five minutes away from cows, that meant that I wasn't in a city. It was a very telling statement. I could have said that I didn't want to be more than five minutes away from a museum or the house had to be within pizza delivery zones, but not me, I had to gauge my accommodation by proximity to cows.