The temperature, with wind chill, was zero. The northern wind was buffeting the house. I sat in the living room looking out onto the frozen snowpack. Prairie grass and evergreens were creaking in sharp temperatures and frigid blast. My feet were cold already. I was trying to think of some other thing I needed to do before I went out and fed the horses, goats, and chickens. Excuses flaked away to nothing.
Layered and bundled, I went outside. I looked something like the Michelin tire man. The snow crunched beneath my boots. The goats yammered, the rooster crowed. As soon as I opened the door to the hen house, all the chickens and Rosie the duck ran outside, the rooster in hot pursuit of a hen. BAM! This is his daily routine. Chicken sex has absolutely no romance associated with it.
The mud and horse manure were frozen clods, like walking on a street of rocks. I worried that I would topple over and break something. The young gelding was frisky and wanted to play "Who's the Boss?" That is his favorite game which he plays hourly. The barn cat curled around my feet, just one more thing to trip over. I managed to get the grain in the horse tubs and everybody lined up in their proper pecking order.
I hobbled back to the house, took off my barn boots, coat, sweatshirt, sweater, scarf, gloves, and hat. Back in the bedroom I quietly prepared to take a shower. Mimi's head rose above the quilt. "Did you feed already?" she asked. "I would have helped you."
And she would have. "It was nothing," I said. "Go back to sleep."
