Chicago likes to remind me that the grass is truly greener on the other side of the fence. Even if the grass is last year’s hay and the other side is the barn aisle.
Though 19 years at Four Sticks Farm has allowed for the establishment of a solid chore routine, sometimes things just happen. During a recent lunchtime ritual, I forgot to close Chicago’s stall door, possibly distracted by Rowdy patrolling the pasture in search of something to eat, something to chase, or something in which to roll. Or maybe the disruption was Fennel, demanding I open the tack room door so he could sit in the opening, heating the unheated barn while he decided whether or not he felt up to an outdoor stroll or a hay pile inspection. Biskit may have been pounding the stall wall in protest of the sluggish service. It may have been the need to monitor a water bucket perched under the running faucet, precariously close to overflowing. Or Mace’s insistence that the Time For Which the Cat Dish Has Been Empty had now entered status Completely Unacceptable and required immediate attention.
In any case, The Big Red Beast opted for a little barn walkabout that ended right back at his stall, eating his ration from the outside looking in. With minimal encouragement he quietly returned to the confines of said stall, where he finished his lunch and settled into his bed of many shavings for the noontime nap.
No harm, no foul, just another little lesson in looking at the world through a different lens. Lots of ways to live your life. Or eat your hay. So let go of the judgement.
But do keep the cat dish filled.
From Four Sticks Farm 