The ebb and flow.

The welcome rain makes the paddock slippery slush.
Gumboots dry inside but awkward to walk in.
Bedraggled baby kids chase their mothers bleating.
Mums' eyes on the prize of lucerne hay.

But Tonto the bull is the winner.
He ambles through the gate,
Turning abruptly to butt the greedy goats.
I slam the gate shut.
They push and climb and nip at the hay I carry.
Secure the gate with much effort.

I must get him into the yard.
He has a boarding pass for departure.
Now he slowly chews his cud,
In no hurry.
I put more hay along his path.
Finally he moves.
Then bolts straight at me.
In fear I toss my load.
He stops.
Trembling I pick up my dropped bundle,
And move to close the gate on him.
"The little bastard."

Now to move the others.
The sheep follow me into a new paddock,
Sean is a greedy leader.
Wary Harriet misses out on food.
She remains shut out and is lost without her herd,
So loiters nearby.
Haley, and Comet her calf will follow me to the moon for some hay.
Animals secure and gates open and shut.

Tonto's carriage awaits.
He saunters down the hill casually following a trail of hay.
Then he spies a whole biscuit,
He's off.
I feel nauseous stress pour over me.
His owner unperturbed Croc Dundee,
Stands her ground,
"Stop,"
He stops.
Turns and runs into the race and onto the trailer.
All done.
I breathe again.
Now to splash and splodge precariously,
And return the displaced.