The weather seems to be moving up and down like a pogo stick. All the news about the polar vortex has sent people scurrying inside, hunkering down out of the bitter weather. I'm never one to complain about the cold, but Sunday's teen temps and 30 mile per hour winds kept me grounded. Yes, I could have saddled up Harley, but the blowing snow devils would have sent him spinning, no doubt. Plus, I hated the thought of having to cool out a sweaty horse with the cold temperatures. He's never one to stay patiently in the barn, chillin' when his buddies are outside.
When we turned our horses out Sunday morning, they didn't even stick around at the hilltop for their grain. All of them dashed down to the far corner of the field to dodge the gusts. And I didn't blame them one iota. Each trip with the wheelbarrow was a slog against the wind. I felt like the abominable snowman; and judging by the picture, I looked like one too!
I delivered some alfalfa-mix hay down on the sled and tried to disperse it into piles out of the wind. The horses spent most of the day hunkered in the sunny corner by the treeline, soaking up sun and munching on this delectable hay.
After I finished mucking the stalls, I doled out a bit of grain in hopes of getting the gang to come up and have a drink. I worry about them staying hydrated in this kind of weather. The heated tank is at the top of the hill, smack in the wind, but my ploy worked. Our three ate grain for a bit and took turns having a nice glug at the tank before heading back down the hill leaving Vance to clean up their leavings.
By this point, I'd decided to skip riding and go cross-country skiing instead. At least I would be warm, especially once I went into the woods. But first, I skied across the adjacent pasture to go visit the horses. Harley, Rolex, and Ruffy watched me gliding towards them, then wheeled and ran along the fence line while Vance ignored me entirely and kept grazing. Once I came to a stop, our three had to come investigate.
This guy is about 6 feet tall, as of Sunday--still, if he melts even a foot, he will surely scare the bejeezus out of Harley, Ruffy, and maybe even give brave Rolex a start. Hang on, everyone!
Here I am on Friday, delivering hay on the sled, aka the hay luge, that you need to steer by leaning. Needless to say, I leaned too far and veered off in the wrong direction. By winter's end, we will have perfected luge steering.
And when the sun is shining, and the wind dies down, there's a nice spot under the trees. The gang seems to prefer pawing for tidbits of grass to eating hay. Don't worry guys, spring will come bringing tender green grass.