Hay Can Change Your Life

© 2009 By Nan Rawlins, all right reserved

It was a good idea, but a little sad, when Ping and I moved ourselves, lock, stock, barrel, and tack trunks, from our blue home for the past four years to another barn. And, although the new barn was very nice and owned by a friend, let’s just says we were both a little down in the mouth.

I had been pretty happy with our horsey home. Even though there were things I would have done differently than current management, I really didn’t want to move. I suppose that could be said of my old four-footed friend as well. He liked his stall and his mane and tail-chewing buddies in the big blue barn.

The Barn Dance

                

©Nan Rawlins 2008.  All rights reserved

I was recently informed, by barn management, that the barn would be closing its doors for good at the end of the month.  The owner wants to put in an indoor and replace the barn roofs.  Granted, these are all facility improvements that, under ordinary circumstances, I would welcome.  I just wish we didn’t have to move out to accomplish his goals.  It wouldn’t be so bad except for the very short notice we’ve been given.  Never mind that the contract states that we are to receive 30 days notice prior to eviction.  We (all 42 of us naïve fools that trusted management) have to find new homes for our equine companions in less than three weeks.  And, move out 75 bales of hay because yours truly can’t seem to do without a glut of hay in the loft. Let’s just say that there are quite a few unhappy campers around the barn these days.

I for one am not too worried.  I have my ace in the hole, my friend Rebecca.  Rebecca owns a boarding facility that is actually closer to home than Ping’s present accommodations.  She has always said that Ping and I have a home at her place whenever we need it. Well, finally we need it!

The Hay Man Cometh

    It’s 9:30 in the evening and it’s really hot.  In July and August in my part of the world it’s always hot - hot, and humid, sticky and sultry, with very little breeze to provide relief from the oppressive mid-summer steam bath otherwise known as summertime in the Midwest. About the only time we get any relief from the stifling summer heat and humidity is when the occasional severe thunderstorm rolls through, bringing with it torrential rain, tornadic (my spell checker doe not like this word, but I believe it meteorologically correct because I’ve heard it used during severe weather bulletins as my family and I huddle in our basement in the middle of the night, following the advice of the man on the television by taking shelter in the nearest low-lying area of our home) gusts of wind strong enough to blow the iron patio furniture into the pool, and if we are really lucky, and the insurance company is not -- hail of varying sizes from grains of rice to baseballs.
    But, on this languid summer evening, no air is moving.  The stars are out and the misty night is blue and beautiful I’ve been at home for about ten minutes and am finally slipping into the pool – a moment I’ve been dreaming of all day. You see, I’ve been in the barn all day and am just now getting home. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have been at the barn so late in the day, but I had to wait for the hay man. I swept the sweltering, dusty barn loft in order to make ready for a hay delivery ordered last week, and promised by my friendly, always smiling hay-making professional, to be delivered at 4:00 this afternoon.