As the cliche goes, when it rains, it pours.
Yesterday's rain brought a good dousing of bad luck along with it.
Morning chores found Diner with a manger full of TMR left in front of her and no milk in her udder. She didn't have a temp, so she had a breakfast of pink pills along with a dose of wait-and-see.
Our bad luck continued during the game of Crazy 8's with our nieces. Glen was grabbing cards from the beginning; I sat with two cards in my hand for most of the game, then started picking up cards after I short-suited myself. The girls ended up trouncing us.
Then, during afternoon chores, the PTO on the Farmall 560 finally took a bite out of a bale of baleage it couldn't chew through. Glen left the bale to grind in the mixer while he went to get earlage. When he came back the 560 was dead and there were little wisps of smoke drifting out of the housing vent on the rear end. Dang the bad luck.
The irony of the breakdown is that we only have one bale of baleage left to feed before we switch back to haylage from the silo. We knew the 560 would have its work cut out for it running the mixer with baleage in the ration, but we needed the 886 for field work. Switching tractors around everyday takes way too much time, so the 560 went to work. Now, the 560 is in the shop collecting disability and the 886 will be working double overtime.
On top of the tractor breakdown, Diner's appetite hadn't returned, she still didn't have any milk and she pinged when Glen listened to her. So, the vet came today to repair her DA. Her second DA. She twisted last year just after she calved, too. I thought cows weren't supposed to have repeat DAs, and Glen agreed, but I guess there's an exception to every rule. What are the odds? Dang the bad luck.
The good news is, these maladies are minor in the grand scheme of things. Of course, the bad news is, bad luck is seldom cheap. The checkbook is going to groan after today. But, hey, it could be worse. (I won't say that too loud.) It still looks like rain, but it's not pouring anymore.