The last couple of days have just been me and the animals. And so a new routine has developed for me through which has given me a newfound respect for Noah. For there are scarce enough hours in the day to mind the dogs, cats and horses; never mind the other millions of species.

The day begins at 8:30, when I go and feed the horses their hay. Then I come back inside and feed the cats and dogs their first meals, and make myself some toast. Then, back outside to feed the horses their grain and vitamins, being careful not to feed Isis before Li'l Bit so I can lock him in his stall and to give horses X, Y and Z vitamin A and horses P, Q and R vitamin B and to separate them all so they don't muscle in on each other's food and so horse R doesn't end up eating horse Z's joint medication or deny horse Q her Senior Formula, which horse R really likes but doesn't need any of the bulk building properties of because horse R is already a pig. Meanwhile horses P and Y have upset their grain or water buckets and horses Q and X need their blankets removed, which they must wear at night because they are tender to the cold, and may take a chill.

Next I wait for them to finish eating, which is usually the shortest step.

After breakfast they get put to pasture, and I begin my endeavors into the time honored tradition of "mucking"; which is to say, I rake up poop. Vast quantities of poop I rake. Acres, it seems.

Many may balk or turn up their nose at such a chore, and perhaps with good reason, for the odor of fresh manure is one of nature's most pungent. But to be honest, I don't mind it that much. Just as the nose of a fine wine carries in it's composition traces of it's history and of the terroir from which it springs, the green horse apples are their own earthy storytellers, reminding the mucker of rains and growth, and of hot days in bare feet, and of the earth and of work. In truth I find the aroma wholesome, for lack of a less romantic word, and a reminder of the parts of my childhood spent around one end or another of a horse. Usually the other.

So continues my day, with a nice long break at lunch, until around four, when the whole thing starts all over again in reverse.

So to that first great sailor, who, if he lived, drew a hard a lot as any man could, I lift my glass in admiration; though but for his toil I would be spared my own, I would miss the joys of rememberance his charges' fruits bring to mind.