Monday Morning

Monday Morning

Monday morning (March 9, 2009) started off...interesting. We have an atomic clock in the bedroom that sets itself automatically to the atomic clock in Colorado. It's great. I can unplug it here, take it to your house, plug it in and it will reset itself to the correct time.

I rolled over in bed Monday morning and the clock said 7:00 AM. Drat! I wanted to get up at 6:00 AM to start making soap. I hopped out of bed and headed for the kitchen, thinking it was awfully dark for 7:00 AM, but it was cloudy and raining, so that must be why.

As I was putting the coffee on and trying to get myself to at least see in color, I looked at the kitchen clock...which said 6:00. AH! Daylight Saving Time. Our high-tech atomic clock did not take into consideration that we don't do DST here in Arizona. Cool. I got up on time after all.

(Now, a little background: About a month ago, I took on three boarders--two mares (Fanny and Flicka) and a stallion named St. Bar. On one side of the house, Flicka is in the "playpen" with my paint horse, Shiloh. On the other side of the house, Fanny and St. Bar are in the front pasture so they can "do their thing" and hopefully next year we'll have the pitter-patter of little hooves....

About that time, I looked out the kitchen window. There's a horse standing in the driveway...where a horse does not belong. Whose horse is that, I wondered. I went outside. The horse was now standing by the front pasture gate. From my angle, he looked like he was inside the pasture. I took a few more steps, he turned and started walking toward me. It was St. Bar (Bar-Bar)!!!! Fanny was still in the pasture, calmly grazing away in the light drizzle.

Great—a horse chase first thing in the morning—in the rain—I hate Mondays. I thought of another horse chase I had awhile back (see How We Met The Neighbors) and wondered if Lynn was up and awake yet.

But no...St. Bar proved me wrong. He followed me to the gate where his halter was hanging. I opened the gate and he walked in. Never had to touch him.

Apparently he hadn't been out too long, but long enough to wander around the front yard. We had some crushed soda cans in a Senior feed bag by the small shed off the carport, and another one in a Senior bag inside the big shop. He tore BOTH bags up and scattered the cans all over the place—and NEVER touched the crushed cans that were in the trash bags or dog food bags! But the point is, he hung around. No cuts, scrapes, bruises or missing hide from his adventure. Guess he didn't want to leave his girlfriend!

Fanny coming to mooch for a treat

Of course the first thing Fanny did when I let St. Bar back into the pasture was to come trotting up to me, "I'm the good horse! I'm the good horse! I didn't go anywhere!"

I chided Shiloh and Flicka for not saying anything. Usually when a horse is out, everyone else is hollering and causing a ruckus. Not these two. Guess they weren't awake enough.

After feeding everyone and going back inside to change into boots and sensible clothes (and getting Rick up), we discovered that the fence had broken in the south east corner of the pasture. It's up by the road, but on my property side of the pasture. We fixed the fence, so we won't have anyone wandering around! By then, it was...8:00 AM. At least it had quit raining.

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