Of wet poop and gratitude

Steve has been in Minnesota for over a week, now. The house is too quiet, the bed is too cold, and I've lost weight because I'm too lazy to cook so I just eat a salad when I get home.

Cry me a river, right?

It is not that I don't appreciate Steve when he's here, I absolutely do. I'd like to think my gratitude is ever-present and obvious, given whole-heartedly and with much enthusiasm, but perhaps I had forgotten just how much there is to be thankful for around here.

This wet week in Northern California has dumped quite a lot of rain on us. This is another reason to be happy and grateful, but it adds weight to horse poop and unused hay.

Who needs CrossFit? I have wet, soggy, heavy horse poop to swing up, over and then into the poop cart. Pretty sure that move has a much cooler name in some gym somewhere. Once upon a time, I think I used a fancy machine in a gym that mimicked that tighten-twist-lift thing that is oh-so-much better with a rake full of soggy poop. Never underestimate the added benefit of weight at the end of a poo-rake for building core strength. Or throwing out your back if you're not careful. That, too. Add to that wrestling heavy bales of hay into their proper storage place. Bales that weigh almost as much as I do and are pokey--it's like wrestling a porcupine into a shoe box.

Muddy brown horse saying more hay would be great.

But while I'm getting a great workout, I am also burning daylight hours that could be spent riding. And I could absolutely ride after I clean. If I didn't want to eat at 9 o'clock (which I don't) or go to bed at an hour that makes my 5:30 a.m. wake up time not so horrid. (Gotta have my eight hours or things get ugly.)

So this temporary routine while Steve is gone makes me deeply appreciate the fact that the poop is normally cleaned up and the horses have already been grained by the time I get to the barn. All I have to do is groom and ride and make it home for dinner. Which is usually cooked and waiting for me.

Makes me sound like a princess a little, yeah?

Apparently, Lena is not the only one who needs a tiara.

Steve says cooking is self-preservation. I know it's really that he wants to eat well and relying on me for that is NOT A GOOD PLAN. Ever. I burn things. A lot.

Am I glad he's coming home Thursday? Why yes, yes I am.