Just A Typical Day

Rolling out of bed, I headed straight for the coffee. Water, filter, grounds, switch the machine on and I could hear it starting to bubble while I head for the bathroom.

After a quick change of clothes into faded jeans and t-shirt, I'm heading once more for the scent of coffee. My cup is a 64 ounce plastic mug complete with lid and straw bought at the local gas station two years ago. Most of the pot goes in, along with nearly as much milk and enough sugar to kill a lesser (wo)man. One of my cats, my Birman queen, is sunbathing on the table. Darn thing, thinks she owns the place. I push her off, knowing full well as soon as my back is turned she'll be up again.

I step out the front door onto the wooden porch. Standing there eating out of my weed- er, flowerbed is Cassie. Jumpers, sometimes I don't know why I bother. The feed, stored in a non-working waterproof chest freezers, is situated in three handy locations including right beside my back door. Several cups go into a nearby bucket while I pretend to ignore Cassie, who follows quickly in my wake wickering for her breakfast.

I urge her back into her paddock by the stable simply by pouring the feed in her tough and leaving the gate open. She knows where to go. She's back home in three seconds flat. Mental note: Make fence higher.

The other horses have their heads stuck through the gates, whinnying for their breakfast as I start down the wide center asle of the newly rebuilt stable. It's a simple stable, one of only two. This one is the larger, once a barn, with a tack/feed room at the end and a show schedule pasted over with clear tape by the door to keep the script readable through all weather and foul manners. The two rows of stalls on either side house our show stock. The stalls are large enough to be comfortable for the drafts and a few roomy even enough for mares with foals by their sides. Roughly 15 x 20, though some are a few feet larger or smaller than that. One side has paddocks attached, Cassie's being one. I'm saving up time and money to build paddocks on the other.

The horses here get fed a special vitamin-rich show feed and hay daily. Daily I have to come in and turn on the hose to top off their water bins, since again I'm still saving up for an automatic one 'one of these days'.

I take a moment to savor my coffee before moving off. I have to check on the other stock before the riders and handlers show up to take their mounts out. We're all family here, related in some way by blood or marriage. It's not a show day, but a training day, so thankfully it won't be as busy as it could be around here. We should be able to find time to raise Cassie's fence.

Well, off I go to my next stop. My kennels were filling up gradually. Most of my dogs are actually allowed to roam around, because we live so far off the main road there's very little chance of them being hit by cars or dognapped. The ones currently residing in the actual pens were my lovely little cat- and chicken-killers, as well as Imagine Power, my collie who still hadn't learned not to try and herd the foals around (much to the kicking dismay of the mares).

The pens were concrete and grass enclosures with acess to the inner building. The inside was carpeted and tiled to be easier on the feet. Brand new three years ago. Today, besides making sure the feeders and waters were full, I had to go in and fix up a nest in preparation for a few pregnances I was planning. I don't take chances with the future, when I breed my lovelies (and I make sure they only breed when I want them to thanks to chain link fencing and distrubuting certain studs out to my family) But louging around the pens were a few of my lovely little cats.

They didn't see much in the way of shows. I just really enjoyed them, and they were useful for keeping the mice population out of the feed. Big Guns, my Norwegian Forestcat tom, practically leaped to his feet and trotted over when he saw me, rubbing against my legs. Lovable chap, except when he sprays my leg.

The backup stable is empty, but the pastures beyond it is home to several of my other beautiful babes. Mostly my breeding stock, such as Beyond Consent, as I prefer to pasture breed. They usually only need feed once a week. The pastures have three ponds and a small lack, acres of treebreaks and woods and even more open space for them to frolic. It's where my father used to raise his own stock and where I'll raise mine.

The horses are up, as is usual, grazing in the front pasture. I make sure they're all there, watching to be sure they're still in perfect health. Many horses have spent the first few years of their lives living out in these fields, never having a human hand laid on them. By the time they're three and four years of age, they'd have mellowed out and had their 'childhood', ready to be gentled and worked. It was a belief passed down by my mother. Some of the horses started their show careers earlier, usually purchased or espeically promising youngstock, but I always tried to grant them the chance to play and live their lives as horses were meant to as best as I was able.

Everyone being fine and fed, it was time for my own breakfast. Downing the last of my coffee, I head back toward the family cabin for a refill.