A Bedtime Story – If Wishes Were Horses

At some level- we were manipulated. It wasn’t something either my wife or myself were consciously aware of at the time, but whatever it is that did it is that same something that attracts kids ‘n’ critters to my wife. Of that I’m pretty confident. They just seem to keep coming.

“Testing. Testing one, two, three. This is your subconscious speaking and tonight’s program is entitled Llamas: Why No Homestead Should Be Without a Pair. But before we begin the presentation, we’d like to congratulate you on the way you handled your husband’s reluctance to share his underwear drawer with the latest batch of kittens. That was very well argued!”

Maybe it’s some DNA-based-racial-memory thing that the ideal husband is one who will willingly chase down wildebeests, on the Savannah, dressed in a loin cloth. Chasing wildebeest in-town would be problematic. The obvious solution is to find a place out of town. No wildebeest? Reasonable substitutes can be found if there’s room enough. Loin cloth? Well . . . two out of three isn’t bad. She’d seen me in shorts before we got married and married me anyway. I suspect she wouldn’t press the point. Watching hubby chasing the daughter’s mare, through the soy beans, in his blue jeans, is apparently close enough. For that I am grateful.

First blizzard of the season and the wind is relocating everything that wasn’t securely fastened down. The snow fences will be filled by morning and I’m left wondering what sort of mess there’ll be to clean up before I can manage to get myself and the children out the door. From the sounds of things- it could be impressive.

Being of the indoor/outdoor variety, all of the cats are in denial and continue periodically attempting all the doors and windows in the hope that one of them leads to warmer climes. I remain skeptical. Still, if there’s a wormhole out there, capable of whisking the lot of us off to Bermuda for the duration- it would be helpful if one of the cats would clue me in as to what to watch for. Eleven below and forty mile-per-hour gusts aren’t my idea of balmy weather either!

The horses seem contented with staying under cover and out of the wind. I made the rounds a little earlier in the afternoon and, when it was the horse’s turn, Kim’s mare stayed in the shelter and looked at me with a “not for anything less than apples” or “you really are that stupid aren’t you” sort of look. I haven’t decided which one it was but I’m pretty confident she was a cat in a former life. I’ve seen that look before. Boomer trotted on out to make sure that he wasn’t missing out on whatever fun was to be had floundering through snow drifts. A coating of snow seems to suit him. His winter coat makes him seriously “fuzzy” and a liberal dusting magically transforms him into something resembling a spindly legged, overeager, dandelion. He got his neck scrubbed and told that he’s a good boy. When your coverall pockets are full of snow, it’s nice to feel like you’re appreciated.

Chickens were all accounted for. They normally put up a bit of a fuss when the coop door swings open unexpectedly. Not today. Topped out their water. They blinked. Cracked corn, grit, and chicken feed. They blinked. I suspect that’s as good as it’s going to get until April.

Time to throw some more coal in the stove, gauge the wind noise to determine if it’s slowing down out there in the dark, and check the back door for the scent of coconut tanning lotion and pina coladas. You never know . . .

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