Morning Glory

Morning outside chores are my reward for getting the kids to school on time and explaining the phases of the moon before 7 am. The house chores are done, or at least started and I can turn my full attention outside.

The chickens make a low constant "bok bok" sound as they welcome their breakfast. One of the most calming noises on the planet, it creates a feeling I wish I could bottle. Hens at my feet while I fill their waters and clean their coops, they check in with me often. Looking in the nest box to see if the hay needs replacing, one particularly industrious bird has already laid an egg.

The egg is light cream with buff undertones. Large enough that for a moment you feel sorry for the poor creature that had to lay it! It's warm and clean, textured to mimic a beach stone that's been worn by the waves. The chickens continue their soft constant noise while picking at the grass.

While I'm cleaning coop pans, the horses wait patiently to walk me up to the barn. The chickens that spook them so badly while they are under saddle, seem amusing to them at liberty.

The sun starts to creep over the tops of the trees as I call the chickens back to their pen and greet Pegasus. His little head seems out of place, lower than the gate, among the other horses who easily drape theirs over the top rail.

I let my heart get warm with affection, considering that he is happy to see me. I know that in reality, it's only because he knows I will remove his grazing muzzle for a few minutes of free grazing before he goes in. Affection and greed can often be connected I suppose.

The parade follows me up the hill. I try to appreciate the beautiful morning glory blooms littering the pasture, the vines that consume hours of my life each warm weather season. I'm glad the horses don't eat the toxic plants in the pasture but they invade my barn with ferocity.

The barn cat leaps the fence on the far corner to join the procession. Likely having been stalking the chickens from afar waiting for me to leave one for her to take. We have no idea how old Merry is. She was estimated around 7 or 8 years when we found her, 4 years ago. She's tough and uniquely qualified for a barn cat position. She moves with a swagger of a cat that's seen battles, the fluid of her gaits showing her age when she thinks no one is looking, but the horses are always looking.

Turning on the water to soak the feed, a loud chirp rings out and startles me. The little toad that lives under the stone by the water spigot says his twice daily greeting, or is he cursing at me for waking him up? Toads have a character that's notoriously hard to read. Considering they pee on us any chance they get, maybe not so hard.

Czech begins his post manning the gate. He's an interesting herd leader in that he doesn't push to be in first, he hates being in the barn alone even for a few seconds, instead he stands back giving subtle gestures to determine who comes in when. Spotlight waits patiently while Bandon keeps asking him like an impatient toddler if it's time yet. No? How bout now? How bout now? Czech blocks him with his whole body while Bandon slings his neck over Czech's back.

Czech lets Spotlight go first to get his muzzle taken off for a few bites of grass while Bandon is allowed forward.

Bandon's skin is warm and smells like sweet plants and earth. Forever my mud smeared, frog in his front overalls pocket kind of boy, he knocks over the empty feed pails and tries to turn on the water while I shut the gate behind him.

The Canadian Geese fly over making a sound that no closer resembles music than a cat whose tail is caught. I can hear the feathers moving air over the racket they make among themselves. An egret flies just North of them, a stealthy air craft compared to the geese.

Spotlight takes a step back on cue from Czech that he himself will be going next. I leave the gate open behind Czech, knowing Spotlight will wait a bit then walk right in to his stall. Czech put away, I stick my head around the corner to call to Pegasus that the gate chaos is all done, but he is already cantering up in a three beat gait that even sounds small and cute.

The buckets rattle in their holders while Merry crunches her cat food. The frogs have gone quiet again and I'm hesitant to turn on the radio for the day and break the soft percussion of animals eating.

It's time to start packing the trailer in preparation for tomorrow's show. I do the math in my head for the twentieth time, getting the same answer as before. I have to start at 3 am if we're going to make the Jumper's Class down south of Atlanta in time. I wish that Bandon stalled well. I wish that I had a cot and could bring him tonight, sleeping in his stall on show site to keep him company. I wonder if horse showing is truly an addiction. Why was I doing this?

The sun reaches higher stretching out rays clear through the barn aisle.  They lite on Bandon's shoulder. The ripples in his muscle reminds me of how it felt to stride stride fly with him just the morning before. 3 am or not, I had to have more.

The radio goes on, putting a work feel back in the barn, as leather cleaner gets a fresh sponge and the day begins.