Memorial Day weekend officially ushers us into the unofficial start of summer – we’re now looking at leafed out elms, oaks and maples, flower-blossomed apple trees and lilac bushes, lawns that need mowing, pastures that need grazing.

Chicago and Moe enjoyed an all-time early all-access pass to the pasture, and three weeks into it, their manure and their movement have maintained production standards in quality and quantity, and they’ve demonstrated a willingness to leave the lushness for an occasional break by the barn. The trifecta.

Free admittance to a grassy paddock encourages them to get moving as they find favored grazing spots, though this first time through the rotation offers an overwhelming selection at the All You Can Eat buffet, and they mostly Goldilocks their way through, taste-testing and sampling in search of the just-right forage.

They circle around the field, sometimes, but not always sharing a section, then strolling off to the next best spot.

Moe’s the more likely to head back to the shelter for a bug break, augmented by his aversion to the sound of a spray bottle, even when used to spritz a washcloth with equine insecticide. He now tolerates a roll-on applicator, but his future includes a few counseling sessions to convince him that fly spray is his friend.

Chicago will wander up for water at a leisurely pace but when the buzzing gets the best of him, waves his white flag with a big buck and good gallop off the grass and to the barn.

At some point during the day, Manager Moe will don his Health & Wellness mantle and guide Chicago to the gravel alley that borders the pasture, making him work more than his mandible as they put in a few laps around the dry lot. The submissive sorrel calmly complies, ambling along until the palomino pressure subsides, allowing him to return to roaming freely about the pasture.

It wouldn’t be summer without at least one pair of barn swallows battling for space in the barn, and last week introduced a pair that seemed bigger, more defensive, and less inclined to leave the premises than combatants of the past. I employed my most historically effective eviction strategies – leaf blower, hand clapping, maniacal shouting of uncensored strings of profanity, frantic antics of a maniacal golden retriever with shrilly squeaking yellow ball.

But the only animal affected was Moe, who backed away from his night hay to ponder the possibility of an annulment of his adoption agreement with the MN Hooved Animal Rescue Foundation.

After watching the swallows finally swoop down and fly up into the wild blue yonder, I implemented a closed-door policy, which keeps the barn balmy but bird-free.

Slacker Ruffian has yet to complete the “Barn Swallow Banishment” course and has limited barn privileges but is allowed supervised visits during chore time. He’s fascinated with the horses, wavering between fright, flight, freeze or tease, once offering a big play bow and a bark, which was, fortunately for all, completely ignored by both Chicago and Moe.

He’ll chase the cats if they deign to make an appearance, which Fennel will not, but if Mace shows up, he holds his ground with the haughty disinterest one would expect from an 18-year-old barn cat. He doesn’t engage and Ruffian doesn’t take it personally.

Luckily for those of us who share airspace with him, Ruff’s appetite for horse manure has waned, replaced by a desire for bits of the ration-balancer pellets littering the stall floors, which are less putridly processed in his g-i tract.

Full disclosure: while Ruffian now seems disinterested in eating horse manure, he recently discovered the joy of rolling in it. By chance, the Four Sticks Farm grooming shop had an immediate opening, so his delight and the smelly green spots were short-lived.

Baths bring no joy in Manureville – reeky Ruffian sulked in the tub while I soaped, scrubbed, toweled and fluff-dried; and though I’d love to believe he will remember the consequences of this action, I’m pretty sure it’s on his list of “Lessons Learned” printed with the same invisible ink as “Remember what discomfort comes with tossing back a throw rug”.

Aah, the smells of summer. Fresh cut grass, budding lilac bushes, blossoming apple trees.

And deodorizing dog shampoo.