Wren wakes at dawn, stretches in the straw, and begins her rounds. First she checks the grain shed for mice. Then she checks the hay loft for the mice who got away. Finally she checks the cow barn, where the day shift is just beginning, and she gives each cow a long and thoughtful nod.
At noon she eats a sardine and sits on the fence post watching the lane. At two she supervises the churn. At four she naps in the warm spot above the milking stall, which she believes she invented.
Wren is eleven. She has never been wrong about the weather. She says it will rain on Thursday, and we are bringing in the washing.
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