After seeking all over the place this morning I left for seeing R at Historica feeling like a first-class idiot. (she, by the way, was happy to see us, having fun with her new friends, and tired but having a ball)
A call from D as I got home: 'maybe I put it in the shorts I was wearing'.
Hadn't checked those. Had only checked my clothes. Wasn't I the last one with the key? I really did think so.
Picked them up to hear what I now class as one of the sweetest sounds in the world: a key, jingling in the pocket.
Life on the farm has restored to normal. Well, for us, anyway.
Except that the chickens only laid 4 eggs today. What's the deal with that? Perhaps the key had them stressed, too.