A rainy, read a book kinda day outside my French doors. Of course, that won't stop me from slogging to the barn, throwing down hay, distributing grain and filling water buckets as horses drip over the fence, ears pricked waiting, always. I can see one from here trying to send me mental messages. Will he go in the run-in and eat hay? No. He'll stand there, watching me look outside, while he looks inside, those big brown eyes and quivering muzzle saying, "Feed me. Never mind that I have green, green grass, a dry place full of hay. I want grain." I give him my best glare. He doesn't even flinch. This staring contest could go on forever. Guess it's time to go find the rain gear. Time to take care of the creatures I love. Always.
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