To say I'm a light sleeper is an understatement. I sleep well, but I'm definitely "in tune to my surroundings". Which leads me to this: at about 2:50 in the morning I am wokenawokenawakened wokedup by a humming. Not the normal sump pump or water pump or refrigerator humming. Different noise. I can't just ignore it, and it is a Saturday, so I may as well get up and get some stuff done.
So it's 61 degrees in here. I figure it's the thermocouple acting up again, but I just serviced that last week and things have been running fine. I reset the thermostat and listen. I hear the boiler go thru its normal clicks and clacks, but it never fires and goes into standby. I go down to check the boiler and find the source of the hum. It's the relay and/or the circulating pump. The transformer is hot to the touch. And there's no water pressure on the gauge. So I kill the power to it, the humming stops, and the transformer cools. I've either got a shitty pump or a bad control module. Either one is not cheap. Not to mention a Saturday service call. And it's 18 outside. And it's not getting any warmer in here.
But on a good note, Sara got the tree decorated! Ho Ho Ho!
And that picture I stole from the web - the mom's freaky lazy eye sure makes her look nutso. Gives me the creeps. Look at it again. I know you will.
Sara brought in Chunky, the horse previously known as Mater, for some hands-on time. He's had the last eight weeks off after a very successful show season. Eight weeks of lounging by the pool (water tank) and feasting on five course meals (first and second crop hay, grain, oats, and flax). No schedules to keep, no cell phones to answer. Just much deserved time off.
So what did they do? Showmanship practice. Sans halter and lead.
Just before four a.m. my foggy brain said to me, "Why's the ligh shtill ohnnnn?" I rubbed the tired crusties out of my eyes and tried to comprehend. Bright. Glow. Window. All fragmented, not in the form of a question, Alex. Bright. Light. Ponies. Cold.
Ahh, it was coming to me. My internal alarm was buzzing, reminding me of the appointment that I scheduled with the horses just before I went to sleep last nite because Algore is an idiot and it's freekin cold out. Cold. Single-digits even. The fatties need eats to stay warm.
But who left the light on? More eye rubbing, forehead smoothing. (It's my ritual. Deal.) I sat up. Outside light. Bright.
Moon.
I was fully awake now, admiring the brightness of it all. You could see the frost on the fence rails. The big boxelder's shadow was crisp on the ground like it was drawn with a new pencil. The sky was clear of clouds and full of stars.
I got dressed without turning on a light. I found the coffee pot and flicked it on. I could clearly see Big Red Ted standing by the gate, his big white face lowered to the tank. I woke the doggies in the dark and let them outside. I found my coat and hat and gloves and boots in the light coming through the window. One last glance at the thermometer told me it was 8 degrees. Nice.
It was one of those mornings where you could read a book in the moonlight. Bright. Crisp. Sharp. Like a really good black and white picture. The outline of the barn was stark against the star filled sky. The ridges on the steel were accentuated by the moonlight, their perfect columns of shadow all lined up against the building.
Ted was still by the gate, watching me watch him. Something in the shadows by the tank moved, then moved again. The shape hopped up onto the insulated water tank housing. Maverick. He's a strange one, that Maverick. Greets me almost every morning from that water tank. I'd like to think he's keeping an eye on things, but I know to never rely on a cat.
I gave him a pat, then stepped up onto the tank to get a peek over the fence. Mater stuck his sleepy face out from under the darkness of the lean-to, his big blaze easily visible in the light. Farther down the row I heard Hank's deep "Ruh-ruh-ruh" preceding his blaze coming out of the dark.
"Breakfast is coming, Hank."
Teddy's nose brushed my gloved hand. I reached out and gave him a big scratch on the neck. He leaned into the scratch, his white eyelashes catching the light.
