It is an ordinary weekday evening. Across paddocks piebald with shadow and golden evening light, the dogs race and wrestle, spraying the air with dust.
There's the usual crowd, longlegged Elvis in the lead, with Fly, Bill and Fred doing their best to keep up, and Fred's pups tagging along: Kevin and Mabel, and their cousin Copper.
But today, there's something new in the Pine Tree paddock.
Something mysteriously aligned in long rows.
Mysterious piles of something pink. Something kind of squishy, something unidentifiable.
A mysterious trail of heaped, squishy, unidentifiable something...
Ziggy knows exactly how to handle such a something.
(and just in case anyone non-agricultural is wondering, it's blob dobber foam. The GPS was on the blink, so R had to revert to the old fashioned method of marking the areas of paddock he'd covered when topdressing)
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