That means one more thing to wrap up, zipper up, fasten onto before going out for chores.
I thank my lucky stars I found them in my parents' home after they died. They have been life savers for me with-the-bad-balance many many times.
*****I know for a fact those donkeys can hear the back door of our house close. This evening, the moment I came out into the garage, the hellions started their "you never feed us and we're wasting away" hee hawing immediately. They must have super duper radar.
A couple of days ago, Fluffy wandered into a snowy area, stopped in her tracks and started squawking. Didn't move out of the snow. Just squawked. It might be best if we didn't discuss chicken intelligence.
I thought the chickens might be getting cabin fever so threw a flake a straw in one side of the coop for them to scrabble through and play with. To make the game even more enticing I threw a handful of dried mealworms on top of the straw. Thus began the frenzy.
Helen (Reddy) loves to help clean up in the mornings. After I clean off the dirty newspapers from the nighttime and am in the midst of placing clean paper, she hops up and insists on helping. I politely tell her I don't need help and place her on the floor. Up she hops again, insistent little girl.
And lastly in this pictorial story comes the fine art of manure clean-up. And you read that right. It is an art. Shortly after snowfalls, trails must be forged and they are lovely in their somewhat unsullied condition.
After some time passes, the condition of the trails change due to the tromping to and fro of donkey hooves on manure.
But, the trick is to not, I repeat not, clean off all the smushed down manure from the trail. Pretty in this case is not preferred. For that smushed manure gives one traction on packed down snow. Leaving a little layer provides safety for man and beast.