Blizzard Ends, Cleanup Begins - www.badc0ded.com

Awash In The Buzz of Spring

I mean that quite literally. Along with a few days of unseasonably warm weather we are moving submarine-like through our water logged paddock with no patch of ground untouched by the lapping waters. I tried to take refuge on a tree stump but could only get my front end elevated, leaving the rear 50% slowly sinking into the evil ooze. Nevermind, Jack and I are dry as a bone above the ankles and enjoying every moment of warmth on our backs. But we know winter has not finished with us yet. Yesterday a few impatient insects could be seen buzzing around the remaining snow banks, in a hurry to get the next season underway. The usual territorial battles in the avian world are ramping up as nesting season begins and of course the black and white gas dispensing creatures are now venturing forth. There was a fatality to one of their ranks on our front road and the resulting massive explosion of noxious fumes can be smelled for miles around. This morning I was sorting through my breakfast hay, which the woman had placed atop a remaining crust of snow, when I began to experience an alarmingly loud bout of tinnitus in my left ear. Then I felt an unseen presence slowly tracking it's way down my ear canal. I tossed my head, I shook my ears violently, I clenched my teeth and pinned both ears against my neck. Nothing would stop the infernal buzzing and tickling. Jack, ever helpful, said 'sonny if yer gonna take a fit then kinely do it away frum my brekfus.' I went off in search of the woman. She was ankle deep in the murky waters, raking away industriously in a futile effort to house clean our paddock before the return of the next snow. As she bent over to scoop another shovelful into the wheelbarrow, I nudged her firmly on the posterior. It got her attention immediately. 'Gakkkk', she said, 'what the &^%$%^& do you think you're doing?!' I repeated the ear shaking, teeth clenching and head tossing. She gawked at me, dumbfounded. I rubbed my left ear on a front leg and groaned. I could feel a tremendous urge to sneeze violently coming on. It burst forth in a blast of snorts and trumpets that left her peppered with various bits of nasal debris. She reeled back, one arm thrown in the air in a posture self defense. Slowly, slowly, the light of comprehension began to dawn in her beady eyes. 'Do you have something in your ear?' I stared at her through watery eyes, trying not to look to contemptuous at her less than stellar powers of deduction. She examined my right ear - nothing. Then she peered into the depths of my left ear. She reached in and extracted a small, white, slightly dusty looking insect. 'It's a moth', she said,'how did that get in there?!' I have no idea when or how the thing decided to take up residence on, or rather in, my person but now I must remain vigilant against one more threat to my sanity (and aural health). It's always something. I sighed and trudged back to my breakfast. I should say former breakfast - Jack had eaten every last scrap.

What Is The Purpose of Donkeys?

I can't tell you how often visitors have asked the woman just that. Not the donkeyphiles, of course, but the ones who are seeing a living, breathing donkey for the first time. They are invariably the ones who also get far too close and say 'Hey, Donkehhhh, Donkehhh, Donkehhh!' or ask where our friend Winnie the Poop is hiding. Inexplicably rude, not to mention highly perplexing. The woman explains that Jack worked hard for twenty-seven years, giving rides, attending parties and parades and putting up with things no donkey should endure. I myself haul the woman around in the cart and do my best to attend social events as donkey representative at large. And still they ask, 'why would you own a donkey, what use are they?' I wonder, does anyone ask them to justify their mere existence? After one such incident, the woman took me aside and said 'Sheaffer, I think I have found a perfect quote to stifle those peabrains.' I'll give her this - she may critcize us freely and in colourful language but heaven help anyone else who does. She found it in a book called 'O Come Ye Back to Ireland' by Niall Williams and Christine Breen. Here it is: 'What is our business here, and in the words of Thomas Merton, 'our business is life itself'. Someone, as Thoreau said, must be Inspector of Snowstorms, Inspector of Sunsets...together we are Inspectors of Wildflowers, Secretaries of Sunshine, Surveyors of Meadows, Auditors of Birdsong, Clerks of Clouds, VicePresidents of Hilltops and Valleys, Bogs, Trees and everything.' I have read this over several times and Jack and I will both add it to our resumes.

Buddy! What Have You Done!!

There we were yesterday, rootling under the snow in the front paddock, looking for any leftover grass. We watched the woman trudge down the driveway to the mailbox - she peered in, put down the small red flag on the side of the box and extracted some envelopes. She revese-trudged back down the drive and called over to Molly 'Molly, there's an envelope for you and it's from Nevada!' Molly peered at her from under her mop-like forelock, grunted, and galloped up to the barn. With Molly hovering self-importantly, the envelope was opened - and what did it reveal? A valentine card! With a prancing golden horse on front and the words 'Kick up your heels Valentine!' The reverse side says 'Stirrup some fun!' Buddy, I can only ask, what were you thinking?? Our lives have been an ongoing misery, what with Molly pointing out her card (which is on her door) every five minutes, barging up beside us in the paddock and saying loudly, and much too close to our sensitive ears, 'did you see my valentine - it means I'm special, did you get any valentines?' and of course sighing and saying how 'dreamy' you Nevada golden boys are. The woman finds it all very amusing and even took some ridiculous photos, thus pandering to the famous Haflinger ego. All I ask is that next time you contemplate communicating with the golden girl, please, please give us a heads up so we can leave town.

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