(a stream-of-conciousness tale)
It sure does look cold out there. Thank goodness for Carhartts and waterproof gloves. Should I put some little heaters in my gloves? Nah, they’re a dollar for two. It’s better to hold off.
I haven’t even gone outside yet and I’m already sweating. I don’t need heaters. Sweating. No. Glowing. I’m glowing. Maybe I should take this hat off. I feel like the opening of The Simpsons where there’s a radioactive rod in my jacket. Time to go outside. I’ll want the hat later. I should take the hat.
It’s pretty, I guess. I could lay down and make a snow angel.
Horsey snow angels don’t look the same as ours.
Snow. In my hair. And in the hat. I should have put on the hat to make a snow angel. At least I’m not overheated anymore.
I still have to feed ponies. Jack’s whinnying.
Oh, look. The first iced-over trough of the morning. At least it isn’t the whole thing, and it’s only an inch thick. (to “Jingle Bells”) “Frozen trough, frozen trough, how I hate your ice…”
Gotta go inside for the hammer. I shouldn’t use the ax because the ax head keeps falling off, and one of these days someone will swing it and it’ll go flying… I should throw that out. Time for the hammer. You know what? There’s no reason to get a hammer. I could totally break this with my boot.
GAH! COLD! COLD WATER IN MY BOOT! “The cold never bothered me anyway?!” That songwriter lives somewhere warm.
At least my gloves are waterproof. Time to fish broken ice out of the trough.
GAH! COLD! COLD WATER IN MY GLOVE!
Didn’t I learn last year it’s better to break up ice at the end of feedings? Duh, I’m brilliant. I hope I don’t have to do this five more times…
YAY! No ice on this trough! (Happy dance)
(as I put hot water in the food containers to make mashes.) I wish someone made me a hot breakfast every morning.
C’mon, girls, time to eat. Sorry, boys. You’ll eat in a minute.
Take your sweet time, Melody. That’s it. I have all day. I remember when you used to gallop in here for your food. Melody, why aren’t you going as fast as you did last year? My sweet girl’s getting old. I love her and don’t want her to get stiff and sore. Melody, take as long as you want. I love you. Don’t worry. I’ll always love you. Always and always and always and–
Melody, don’t bully the other horses. You brat! Honey was already in that stall and you shoved her out. There are enough stalls for everyone and the same amount of hay in each one. You stinker.
“Nah nah nah nah; nah nah nah nah; hay hay hay, goodbye…” Eight flakes for the girls, six for the boys… “Nah nah nah nah…”
Ok, ladies, time to go back outside. Really, Mel? The Kentucky Derby as you leave your stall to go to the pasture? You’d think you were four instead of seventeen!
Boys! Time to come in!
Zeus! There’s hay in the stalls–you don’t need to grab the entire–did he really just grab the ENTIRE bale of hay from off of the stack? No way! That’s kind of impressive when you think about it.
I should have used glove heaters. Should have. The extra dollar would be worth it. If I used hand warmers and toe warmers all winter, that’s about 90 days give or take. Ninety x 2 = 120, plus, I’m a wimp so there would probably be about 30 days in the fall and spring when I use them, 30 x 2 = 60; 60 + 120 = 180… Plus tax… Holy cow. They make a killing off of me alone. It would be cheaper to move to a better climate than to keep me in hand and toe warmers for the rest of my life. I’m 32, I probably have 40 more useful years left in my life where I can work the farm, 40 x 180… Where’s a calculator when you need one?
The boys are done eating. I should put ’em outside. Are you kidding me? Their trough has ice at the top too?! I shoulda married an electrician. At least I learned my lesson about shoving my boot in the ice.
I am the mighty Thor, weilding my mighty hammer. RAWR.
Ice in my eye. Does that make it eyce? Wow, that was lame, even for me. Darn, that’s thick ice. The hammer bounces right off.
“I’ve been workin’ through the ice troughs, all the live-long day…” Should I be whistling this?
I can’t whistle very well. Shouldn’t that be something all people can do well?
I give up. I’m not a whistler.
“Sarah Fowler took an ax, and gave an ice trough forty whacks…” That’s macabre. Macabre. Macah–brah. Meca-brah. Do I say that word correctly? Probably not. I’ll probably embarrass myself if I ever use that word in front of someone else. Note to self: Avoid using the word macabre until after googling.
Yay! The electrician is here!
Adding a new circuit? Fine by me. Oh, that’s not bad… I can still afford to put in the new front door, and put the tarp around the front of the barn, and…
Oh, I still have to muck frozen stalls. I should have used the hand heaters. I hate to think how much it’ll cost over the next years, though. Forty times 180…