It has been raining for a couple of days. One of those cold, continuous rains. Hard at times, but mostly just steady.
Horses at pasture seem to get by pretty well. They continue to graze, seldom shiver, and only on occasion show any displeasure. If the rain is driven by a cold wind, it bothers them, and they'll stand with their rumps to the wind and their ears flat to their heads.
A foal imitates its mother, and shows intelligence by standing directly in front of the mare's chest, protected and partially shielded by her body, neck and head. It is a good system.
Horses kept in box stalls get the rain day crazies. Everything soon begins to irritate them.
Their displeasure is evidenced first by their nasty dispositions concerning the lateness of breakfast. It doesn't matter whether the rain has made you a minute late or half an hour late. They don't like it, and they let you know. Everyone has something to say about it!
With a great deal of vocal encouragement to move my bloomin' backside, I got them fed one cold and rainy morning.
Did anyone of them appreciate it? Not in the least. I had merely done what was expected, they believed, and not done it particularly well considering breakfast was late.
I filled water buckets. Again, no thanks, no cheery conversation.
Alone in a cold, gray tack room, I sat unappreciated on an unopened sack of grain and I cleaned, waxed and polished tack. Standard rainy day procedure. Nothing else to do, since I didn't want to incur the wrath of any late breakfast eaters.
Finally, when arthritic pains began to shoot through my joints, I decided it was time to warm up by going to work.
Miss Megaforce always eats quickly, then gives you a look which says, "You hardly gave me anything."
So much for her look. I wasn't in the mood.
I took her blanket off and got a stare of pure indignation. She began to shiver, although I swear it wasn't that cold.
Shaking all the way, she walked beside me down the shedrow to the covered round pen. Poor girl, she protested silently to me, how could I expect her to work that 40-foot circle when her little body was so cold. Every minute or so she'd stop, look at me and her eyes would plead for a return to her nice warm stall and her comfy blanket.
I took her back. Immediately she began chewing the stall webbing and kicking the wall as a protest to being shut in all day without exercise.
Bears Elegant One was next. First she refused to leave her stall. Her attitude clearly showed she could see no point in going out in the cold and wet. Once I finally got her out, she refused to step anywhere there was even a hint of mud. She didn't mind big puddles, just the mud. She we sloshed through the big puddles.
She stood quietly to be tacked, but once I mounted, she turned the session into "play day." Absolutely no work would be accomplished if she had anything to say about it. She was making a fool of herself, and she certainly didn't need my help.
My boots and socks were wet and my feet were cold. You can't ride alike that, so I took her back, groomed her and put her away.
She looked as if she had won. I guess she had.
Lazy Sweet Lark rested her chin on her stall door and worked on her best bored expression.
The First Secret paced his stall, blaming me for the weather.
Lydian Ridge tried to shred her blanket to show her disgust with the situation.
It was obvious the whole barn had a case of the rain day crazies.
And how much can a guy take when the day begins dreary and goes steadily downhill?
Walter proved to be the only sane one among us. I followed his example, went home to bed and slept the entire afternoon.