Progress?

It was a little strange to walk through the extremely familiar neighborhood of Githens Acres today.   I had to do a classic double-take while walking by property well-known to me.  I was a pet- and house-sitter for the previous owner for several years; I loved the lay-out of the one-story house, that had a huge English-park-like back yard, with multiple bedrooms and baths and a large art studio.  A new person purchased the property for $1.25 million (most of the cost was in the land itself), and had rented the property to friends for more than a year.  I hadn't walked by and looked at that property since I left on my vacation.  I was amazed to see an ugly chain link fence around the front of the property that had an inner facing of green plastic.  I had to step to a corner and climb up on the stump of what had been a beautiful tree to be able to see the yard.  The entire house and garage have been removed.  The garden shed and less than half of the trees have been left standing.  As I was staring at the scene of devastation, a truck pulled onsite that had a drill bit that was wider than I am tall on it's bed.  What the heck are they going to drill for?  The water table is only 3.5 feet under the surface at that property!    And, the thing I miss most of all, there was a blue spruce that was over 100 years old at the corner of the house.  The previous owner and I had both watched the birth of countless deer over the years underneath the boughs of that tree.  Deer that were born there came back to give birth to their young at the same place - and a big buck that had been born there made that spruce his winter bedding area every year.  And now it's gone - in, seemingly, the blink of an eye.   So, so sad.
   Later, while catching some sun with Rosie in the park near Crest View, We made friends with three dogs, and a visiting 18-month-old child and her parents.  The family was visiting Boulder from Minnesota, and they came out for an early excursion, so Hazel could enjoy the park.  The first two dogs had moved on, with their owner, and Rosie and I were both sitting in the sun, absorbing its warmth.  Then we heard a squeal of delight, as baby Hazel had seen the "dob" - Rosie.  Her parents checked with me first, then allowed Hazel to come pat Rosie.  Rosie laid very still and allowed the little girl to pat her all over, and then Rosie licked her hand.  Hazel, her parents, and, I think, Rosie, too, were happy with the outcome.  Hazel squealed and danced, yelling, "Dob! Dob!"
   Walking back from the park, we passed the house on Redwood that raises Silky chickens (in three colors).  As we were almost past, I heard what I thought was the word, "Me."  Rosie and I both stopped to look for the speaker.  I couldn't see any people out and about.  There were no signs of the Silkies, either; and while I've heard chickens make all kinds of sounds, I haven't yet heard one say, "Me."    We started to walk on, and heard, "Meeeee,"  So we both started doing an inventory of the Silkies' property.  We saw nothing, so we took another step.  "Meeeeeeeeeeeee!"  We stopped short, again, and looked again.  Finally a young goat, almost  a pure cream color, parted the bushes and stepped into our view.  I scratched its head vigorously, while Rosie investigated its mouth and lips.  After about five minutes, we started walking back home, and had to hear plaintive "Meeeee"s for most of the block.  It's a sweet kid, but lonely.