My feral cat, Harlotta, has accepted her new home at the barn. This tough old girl is as smart as I thought she might be. She'll never forgive me for having had her spayed and ear-tipped, but she does respect my ability to feed her. She grudgingly eats kibbles from the automatic feeder I set in the hayloft, next to the watering station, but she lives for and feels entitled to cans of wet food too. I give her wet food every few days or so, just to help her fortify for the coming winter. "Puss-puss," I bark out when I arrive at the barn.
And there she comes, each time filling me with a sense of pride and joy at having saved her. I don't have to dream of it anymore because now it is.
And then there's another little thing: the elusive ear cam. Would I ever have a horse that I could ride with such a sense of security that I could bring a camera along? Not Scout - the click of a camera would have sent her skyward. Not Dar - both hands would have been occupied managing him and his strong-like-bull neck.
So this made me silly happy. Here's Saxony pondering the ground poles I used during our mounting-block work the other day. She stood so well yesterday that I did not need to lead her over the ground poles and back to the mounting block. I like the blue-black shading along her mane and neck that appears in this picture taken during the grey light of prewinter that I love so much. She has an amazing whorl there on the right that I like to smooth just so with my fine body brush. Ahhh...