Fussy Eaters (A Diversion from Politics and Art)

In an effort to buoy our flagging spirits and to prevent an erosion of my last bit of sanity, I decided to write about other dramas erupting at the BauHaus Chicken Coop. F'rinstance, both Maggie the Mexican Pony (hope she's legal or she'll probably be deported) and Lil' Robin the Good have decided to stage their own versions of hunger strikes.
In Maggie's case it started with the advent of true cold weather. Inevitably, at this time of year, the grass stops growing and a horse begins to consume more hay. Maggie loved the hay I supplemented her grazing with this fall. I mean, there was never a stray piece of hay in her hay rack; she ate every last bit. The man I bought the hay from ran out- which is a shame not only because Maggie liked it, but he gave me a good price because I bought a truckload. So I picked up 10 bales of hay from a dealer in the next town over, paying a higher price for their second cutting hay. (Horses generally keep better on second cutting; it's mowed in August or early September and is typically finer and greener and higher in available nutrients. Especially for a horse that's a bit "longer in the tooth", like our friend Maggie. Don't tell her I said that!) Bob and I liked the hay. It smelled nice, had good color and was in a bigger, heavier bale. We thought we were getting a good deal. But Maggie decided otherwise and turned up her long striped nose. She voiced her disgust at this (apparently) sub-standard hay by pulling it down from the hay rack and stomping on it. Just look at that picture- nose out of joint and very grumpy!
I called the woman from whom we've purchased our winter's supply of hay for the last four years and to my dismay I was told their second cutting had been a very small yield due to the extreme dry season and worse, it was all sold out. I went over and bought one bale of first cutting hay to tide us over and while Maggie is eating it, she didn't seem to relish it. I have subsequently ordered hay through a woman I work with who's husband is a farmer. He produces small batch, artisanal, hand-crafted locavore hay. Maggie better like it or Bob and Robin and I will be eating Mexican Pony burgers all winter long.

(Robin's personalized place mat. I apologize for the dark photo but I was rushed for time).
And meanwhile, Lil' Robin seemed to catch the spirit. She began turning up her rather long pointy nose at whatever we poured into her dish. And because this is 2016, she is not being offered some nasty dried out, artificially flavored and colored gravy train. 

No, Robin has been feted with uber expensive salmon tenders kibble with sweet potato sides and special large breed, grain-free blueberry chicken flax seed sliders. Frequently, her dinner sounds better than ours (and is probably more expensive!). She has also demonstrated a remarkable ability to determine when the bag is half full. That's when she expresses boredom with the offering and we have to buy another bag of a different flavor to mix into the first bag. And to boot, I mix in chicken broth or pre-browned turkey crumbles to make meal time all the more appealing; but Robin has perfected ways to pluck the meat morsels and leave the dry food behind...

(Note the "Super Premium" label and the statement that "... your best friend deserves nature's best ingredients!"And of course, the name of the brand is "Evolve". Lil' Robin's on her way!)

Maybe it's the election that put us all off our feed. Bob came down with a bad head cold, I bruised my butt (on a slippery pile of decomposing mushrooms concealing a tree stump) and several other friends and relatives reported injuries and illness, ranging from broken shoulders to odd bumps and rashes. Everyone I know is reporting sleep disturbances. I think I had promised to not discuss the tragedy of 11/9 but allusions to that date are inevitable. There are dark days looming.
Me? I can't help it and have been overeating in compensation for all the misery. I'll be fat and unhappy when the End Times come.

Fussy Eaters

Doesn't that look delicious? And quite the flavor assortment, attractively presented... Jules is being offered the equivalent of the "all you can eat buffet", and he turns up his nose. (He even has a handmade personalized place mat and still he refuses to eat!) I have heard that male dogs are less fussy that females, but try telling that to The Dog. I fear he's gone on a hunger strike, except that he seems to believe that old kleenexes and squirrel fecal material are tasty alternatives to wholesome, holistic organic doggie trail mix. (The above offered biscuit option is sweet potato and granola; can we get any more wholesome than that?) And how could I neglect to mention that Mr. Dog has an uncanny ability to know when the bag of dog food is 2/3 empty and starts refusing his dinner? I am not even purchasing the big 30 pound bags that could possibly go stale or taste "old". I am spending more by buying the 15 pound bag which would seem to retain it's factory freshness. But The Dog knows and I must bring home a new bag (and show it to him as I bring it into the house) so that he can rest assured I'm not pawning the stale dregs off on him.

Here he is: playing dead and being (typically) melodramatic when asked if he's interested in eating. He seems to be saying, "Go away. Do not bother me with that tasteless, disgusting dreck". I keep insisting that we don't want him becoming pale and weak. Poor thing! All he can do is lay there!
And The Horse? Just as bad!

Here Maggie is, ignoring me and my pleas to get out and graze. I painstakingly assemble temporary pastures for her and she prefers to stand in the barn, awaiting my deliveries of hay and grain, the equine equivalent of "Take Out". I think she feels grazing is beneath her and altogether too much work.

Look at all that green stuff to chow down on! But her response is to amble about, putting nose to ground in a desultory manner, picking halfheartedly at a few blades of grass and then returning to the barn. Fussy eaters!
Bob and I have no such compunction. We clean our plates. It is a rare occasion indeed when we miss a meal or pass up on seconds. Bring it on!