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It might be Spring
13 March 2007 22:45It was an absolutely gorgeous day here: sunny, temps in the low 50s. Glorious. I spent a couple of hours out by the barn tramping around or just hanging with the alpacas. And cleaning the poo piles, which have grown to prodigious size during the winter and are now becoming thawed. I took out four buckets this afternoon and two this morning, and there's still a small mountain of it under the snow and ice.
The alpacas don't get the whole "clean the poo pile" routine. I'll walk out into the paddock carrying my trusty bucket, rake, and shovel, and they look at each other like, "She's hear to steal our poo again." Usually the crias are right by my side while I scrape and shovel, sniffing the bucket, chewing on my jacket, or just generally being the nosey little critters that they are. As soon as I'm done - and usually while I'm still working - at least one adult will walk over next to me and let go with a load of pee and poo. Funny, guys. Very funny. (Actually, it is.)
Getting to and from the barn is becoming a chore because of the melting snow. There's still around 18 inches of it, but now it's turning to mush. There used to be a packed-down path that allowed us to move easily to and from the pasture, but that is now the consistency of a 7-11 Slushie. Right now it's still in the amusing stage because we're giddy with the sun and the warmth, but I imagine constantly having to pull our legs out of slush piles is going to lose its charm. And we're trying not to think about the small lake that our back yard will become. Because . . . Spring! Spring is good! We've been using plastic tobaggens to ferry stuff out to the barn over the snow; I was telling Dar that we should start thinking about replacing the tobaggens with a couple of paddle boats. The swan boats from the Boston Public Gardens! That'll freak the alpacas out big time. Heh.
I have a doctor's appointment first thing in the morning, so I should head to bed. Operative word being should. I'm all kinds of wired, and I'm not sure why. Maybe . . . Spring! Heh.
The next time it snows - and it will - I'm going to be a cranky, weepy mess. Just a heads up. I suggest that everyone send chocolate and/or Bailey's to help stave off that blight on the flist.
The alpacas don't get the whole "clean the poo pile" routine. I'll walk out into the paddock carrying my trusty bucket, rake, and shovel, and they look at each other like, "She's hear to steal our poo again." Usually the crias are right by my side while I scrape and shovel, sniffing the bucket, chewing on my jacket, or just generally being the nosey little critters that they are. As soon as I'm done - and usually while I'm still working - at least one adult will walk over next to me and let go with a load of pee and poo. Funny, guys. Very funny. (Actually, it is.)
Getting to and from the barn is becoming a chore because of the melting snow. There's still around 18 inches of it, but now it's turning to mush. There used to be a packed-down path that allowed us to move easily to and from the pasture, but that is now the consistency of a 7-11 Slushie. Right now it's still in the amusing stage because we're giddy with the sun and the warmth, but I imagine constantly having to pull our legs out of slush piles is going to lose its charm. And we're trying not to think about the small lake that our back yard will become. Because . . . Spring! Spring is good! We've been using plastic tobaggens to ferry stuff out to the barn over the snow; I was telling Dar that we should start thinking about replacing the tobaggens with a couple of paddle boats. The swan boats from the Boston Public Gardens! That'll freak the alpacas out big time. Heh.
I have a doctor's appointment first thing in the morning, so I should head to bed. Operative word being should. I'm all kinds of wired, and I'm not sure why. Maybe . . . Spring! Heh.
The next time it snows - and it will - I'm going to be a cranky, weepy mess. Just a heads up. I suggest that everyone send chocolate and/or Bailey's to help stave off that blight on the flist.
