You'll never catch me in a store on Black Friday. I ignore Cyber Monday. Granted I spend most of my blissfully ignorant time living under a rock, that's probably why I'd never heard of Giving Tuesday. What a concept! Now that's an idea I can get behind.
Gave this morning to a mentor's cause. Moneys are needed to fund her documentary, Bernice Ende is a very inspirational woman who has been beacon for me over the years. Since I was off today, I wondered what other mischief I could find.
Donate blood.
Pick up fruit for the gopher tortoise I sponsor. She's probably semi hibernating now, but I can't risk the big girl being hungry. 8 months out of the year, I drop off herpetologist approved foods every three days into her burrow. She is very capable of foraging for herself, but her burrow now sits in a denuded area right on the paved road. What other humans have caused, I'd like to fix, at least in her world.
Trucked myself and the posse to the barn this evening to help Flynn blanket all the horses. Frigid cold with wicked winds, everybody deserves a coat!
What a fine day it has been. Shouldn't every day be Giving Tuesday?
On Tuesday, we lost a member of the farm. No, not one of the horses, our Deli, that's who!
She rode off into the sunset with her new husband, off on a new life in New Jersey. True to Deli's dependability and team spirit, barely married an hour, she dragged her partner to the farm for a day of trail cleaning. We knew this day was coming since the first day she joined the farm back in the Spring, but it sucks just the same. On Tuesday, we all went for a last ride together.
The view from my perch atop Angus.
I like my vantage point.
Deli and James:
Flynn:
We celebrated and gagged (Chester was having serious flatulency issues).
It's with a heavy heart that we say goodbye to Deli.
Friday morning something unusual occurred: I drove off-farm alone.
No canine posse in the backseat. Doubted it would be allowed to bring them all to my yearly physical. My appointment dragged on and I started to get concerned about what Dax was doing at home unsupervised, a certain Demon Spawn hadn't had his morning run... To further elevate my stress levels, the good doctor was concerned about the noises my heart was making, postulating that the hole in my heart had widened, she asked me to hang around so she could try to get me in to a cardiologists that day. Plus, I was in holding pattern waiting on the pharmacy. Phenix City, Alabama isn't renown for its cultural museums, so I found a sprawling vintage store where I could go idle for a couple hours.
A working 1930's refrigerator and gas stove, just what my kitchen needs.
A padded bar for my living room, sweet!!
The perfect gilded mirror to hang over it.
A chic bar deserves an equally stylish bartender.
Now we know where bridesmaid dresses go to die.
I think a mink stole would say it all... I wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes and try to find more practical items.
A laying box for hens, never mind that the bottom is rusted out... minor detail.
A 'safe' place to leave Dax for the day, never mind, he'd break out.
30 lb game caller, complete with records and megaphone. Finally, I get the news that I can go home, no earlier appointment could be made because of upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, I should rest and absolutely avoid stressing my heart with running. I arrive home to stress:
A frustrated Dax had been on a rampage.
Garden hose sections littering the yard. A favorite sleeping bag assaulted and shredded.
A new pair of heels, one now 3" lower than its mate. So much for stress avoidance. Screw doctor's orders, I decide to run the snot out of the heathen.
I'd ratchet down his energy level if it killed me, I reasoned.
Yes, my logic is infallible.
I'd been trying to keep his mileage at 5 or lower because he's only 1-1/2 years old. But, Friday, we ran Cole's old 8 mile circuit. Proving the doctor wrong:
I did not keel over.
Matter of fact two days later, we did a 7 miler. Limits are prisons, I live free, or I'd rather die.
