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.

Farm Chores

This is the barn that Bob and I go to to retrieve the horse's hay. It's this wonderful old farm at the top of a hill with huge fields all around- always very windy. But it's sort of a fun adventure; I'd been hoping to take Louise with me when I went today, but Sheldon's mother's funeral was scheduled and so Bob and I went. Maggie was entirely out of hay so there was no question that on my day off, this was Job #1.

Doug (the man that works at the farm) goes up into the loft and essentially jettisons these forty pound bales of hay down, while you scramble to stack them in the appropriate manner. (There's one way to correctly fit the twenty bales on the truck). Doug is very accurate in his hay tossing and he often gets them to line up just right. Sometimes he is overly enthusiastic and then it's time to jump out of the way. Bob is very brave, but not just because he trusts that the bale won't land on his head, but you'll notice there is a German Shepard that is waiting at the tail gate of the truck. If the bale doesn't get you, the jaws of death will.
(Only kidding; the dog is very friendly. And today? I was in Canine-lover's heaven as there were three dogs at the farm, all swarming me and demanding attention. Jules had a lot to be jealous of when we returned home.)

This is another of the out buildings at this farm. It's a great place to visit as I wish I were wealthy enough to own all this gorgeous property and have a studio in a building like this. And it's stucco; we all know how I love stucco.. They have miniature horses and beef cows and last year there were baby donkeys. It's just nice to know these places still exist. Too bad Sheldon and Louise can't buy it. Then we could buy our hay from them!
At least the snow has melted and we could drive right up to our rather petite barn. Maggie greeted us, happy to see we had arrived with her belated breakfast. Too bad Sheldon and Louise weren't here to stack the hay. They'll be leaving us shortly; the burial was today and they head to new Jersey on Friday and then will fly back to Santa Fe. They'll have been here almost four weeks but we will really miss them. So will Jules. He's enjoyed having an extended fan club and I think he gets twice the dog treats.

Activities For A Cold Day

This morning Bob and I went to secure another 20 bales of hay. What else can you do when the daytime high is like 11 degrees? Baby, it's cold! Yet another delightful effect of this "polar vortex" fun is that a horse (or cow or dog or human) has to eat more to maintain body temperature. We buy our winter hay from a beautiful farm in Middlebury and pick it up twenty bales at a time. (They store it in a huge barn, as we have limited storage.) The only trick is timing it so that the weather cooperates, work schedules permits and you don't run out. We were down to a single bale...
The next excitement is getting the hay from the driveway to the horse barn. What with snow cover, we have to be clever in our methods as you can't drive the truck to the barn.

I swear, Bob and I sometimes resemble peasants in a Breughel painting. We're swaddled in hats and scarves and gloves and boots and dragging pieces of plywood secured with ropes across the tundra- very Middle Ages, indeed! I'm supposing this kind of activity keeps us fit for the demanding enterprise of making art. Who needs aerobics or pilates when you can drag several forty pound bales around?
Here's Bob's transport device of choice:

Bob, being a clever welder, fabricated this extended arm wheelie cart out of an old hand truck. It worked surprisingly well on the snow, despite small wheels. Between the two of us, it only took ten minutes or so to move the hay from driveway to barn. Such fun!
Then it was in to the house for warmer pursuits, huddled around the wood stove and computer. I managed to get moving on a few art projects. My brain may be processing more slowly due to the cold, but something seems to be firing correctly!