No Camera, Just Stories

I try to remember to take the camera with me when I go outside, but I often forget. Brett does not, as a rule, carry the camera so there are not typically pictures taken on the days I work. But there are stories.

Yesterday morning was cold and frosty, as were the mornings all of this past week. Jackson watches Brett take the hay cart out to the oak pasture to feed Flash and Mufasa. Brett mucks their pasture while there. Then he walks over to the mare's pasture, walking right past Jackson who wags and wiggles his head in protest. "Ladies first! Get used to it." Brett calls out as he marches on by with the hay. Yesterday, it was too much for Jackson. Instead of finishing his morning bucket of vitamins and carrots, he galloped around the pasture, bucking for all he was worth. Surprisingly, his trail boots didn't fly off off of his hooves although Brett did have to tighten down the velcro on one hind that came undone. So, in answer to the question "how is Jackson doing with trail boots? Any abscesses?" -- Jackson is doing great with his trail boots. No abscesses and lots of attitude.

Today was a bit warmer than the past few days. The sun made a showing and we crept up into the 60s. Lucy and Pistol took a long nap in the sun, on the warm mud, side by side like bookends.

I was able to leave the office early this afternoon; the parking lot was almost empty when I left at 2. People were headed to the grocery store or out of town in advance of Thanksgiving tomorrow. I made a quick stop at the grocery store and was home before 4pm and so was able to help with the evening chores. Brett had already given the mares their hay by the time I finished mucking the donkeys/Jackson pasture, dumped the cart onto the compost pile, and started on the girls' pasture. Lucy was on one side of the hay feeder; Pistol was on the other. In between them, on both sides, the goats cautiously snatched bites of hay and avoided the flattened ear threats of the horses. Thistle and Lucy were having a heated discussion. He moved in to get a bite of the hay poking out of the side of the feeder, she lowered her head and made a "get outta here" movement towards him. Thistle complained. Loudly. Remember the old Charlie Brown films? How the adults sounded like "wah wah wah"? That's exactly what Thistle sounded like, but up an octave. This dance went on for quite awhile -- approach, threaten, wah wah wah.