|Rolex in the snow flurries|
John and I arrived at the barn, hot coffee in hands, and welcomed by nickering horses. Ruffy tosses her head when she's hungry and Harley makes his "giraffe face"--opening his mouth and twisting his head sideways. Rolex relentlessly paws the floor. Since they all eat better outside, we walked them down the hill then delivered feed, hay, and water via the truck. The loggers were already hard at it, their saws whining and trucks rumbling in the forest. One log truck was nearly loaded and ready to pull out by 7:15 a.m. They begin work in the dark, working by headlights, and finish in the dark as well, headlights bobbing through the woods and over the pasture as they shut the gate at the end of each day. The horses don't seem to mind the constant traffic of log and chip tractor trailers passing by them all day long. Chalk it up to life at the track--trailers, tractors, airplanes--they've seen it all before.
I was beat by the time we got back to the house. Time for little breakfast and then a nap. My stuffy head and chest made me feel woozy and exhausted after mucking stalls and the multiple trips up and down the hill. The weather station predicted snow in the afternoon, and sure enough, it began to snow around 1:30 just as I awoke from my nap. As the snow flurries intensified, I decided to go out and get the two old guys, Gator and Vance, in out of the wet. They are both recovering from bad bouts of rain rot and needed to stay dry. Of course, once I brought those two in, everyone figured it must be time for dinner. They stood at the bottom of the hill, looking up at me with ears perked, as if to say, "What about us?"
|Harley in the flurries|
So here I sit, snug by the wood stove, tapping on the computer, knowing our gang are toasty warm in their stalls for the night.