I dodge mud puddles and streams of melting rainwater, only to have horses stomp the same into my face. Accidentally or on purpose? Nobody can tell. (I can. It’s totally on purpose.)
A pipe burst in the tack room bathroom and sprays water everywhere when we turn on the outside spigot.
The chickees are now older and the size of tennis balls. They’re super adorable–except they’re at the awkward teenage-phase where they sort of have real feathers and sort of don’t. Now they try to fly out of their trough and poop on the floor.
The Firefly Farm horse show is this Saturday, March 22. It’ll be in the indoor arena. If you plan to attend, please bring something to sit on. (And I don’t mean your tushie. Bring a chair or something.)
If it seems that the above is not a cohesive blog post, I agree. If you think this blog will end abruptly, you’re two for two.