January
One thing I really hadn't given too much thought to when I became a horse owner was frozen poop. Who would? In the summer it's flies and smell and mush and stall deodorizer and cold post-stable showers. It's all shovel and muck and what is on the ground very readily shifts to the Big Pile Outside. It's actually kind of pleasant flinging poo into a wheelbarrow in the grass pasture as the sun sets after another hot day.
Now it's January and while that resolves the flies and smell issues, it does not address cold. Getting dressed for the barn requires an entire costume change. Long underwear, thermal socks, heavy cotton jodphurs, tee shirt, turtleneck, fleece jacket, down vest, down jacket, one set double mittens for stable work, one set thinsulate gloves for horse care, fleece hat,double-sided full seat insulated over- trousers zipped over thermal winter boots, it takes me 15 minutes just to waddle to the door. That's nothing compared to what Archie wears.
Once inserted in car, heat on high; arriving at the yard means automatic frozen fingers for the first half hour. Wave to Archie in paddock, secure wheelbarrow, pitchfork and broom, it's time- intensive work to discern what's wet, what's poop and what's just frozen in his stall. I use a flashlight propped on a feed bucket to see past the gloom but it's pretty dim in there and everything on the ground gets glued together after a below zero night. Today I found the glove I lost last week frozen into the sawdust piled in the corner.
Scoop, shake, rattle and toss. Empty wheelbarrow and dig energetically to refill it with frozen sawdust that clumps with cold. Smack clumps with shovel and stamp on the ones you missed that make it back to the stall. I am now very, very warm. Winter is no longer the enemy. I take my wet mittens off, switch to the gloves and shove the hat into my jacket pocket. Sawdust spread in thick pee-happy piles over stall floor, warm water steaming in corner, four flakes hay to ward off cold-colic, it's time to retrieve Archie.
Trudge up path, unchain all halters and ropes, secure Archie's and re-hook the rest. Slide under electric fence without getting zapped and convince Archie to do fun tricks in exchange for apple slices. Back up, put head to ground, turn on foreha
I check Archie's rugs (three deep and snug), his ears (lukewarm) and pick ice out of his borium- shod hooves. He hurries into his stall and plunges into fragrant second-cut summery hay which brings a pleasant whiff of 'remember when' while I haul out the wheelbarrow and head back to the paddock to de-poop.
Everything is ice. Some of it keels over when I kick it and some of it resists any dislodge. The pattern of poop indicates that Archie is loathe to wander anywhere his fetlocks might freeze. Rising like volcanic rock in the increasingly pee-pocked snow, small hillocks of dung show brown and permanent on the frozen tundra. The wheelbarrow is now loaded with poopsicles and needs to be trundled to the muck heap where its contents clatter when pitched.
Back inside, Archie has indulged in his favorite winter pastime: peeing on a deep bed of sawdust. He looks (and is) relieved. I skip out th e wet patch before it freezes and fill it in with the corner stash. Archie plows into his hot mash dinner. I watch him eat and rub his ears until they are not lukewarm. I check all his blanket straps to make
sure they are not strangling any major arteries, blow a "pwwwww" at Arch as he sticks his nose at me and call it a day.
The weather report says more snow Wednesday which means the entire process takes twice as long and my shoulders will ache at bedtime from carving wheelbarrow trails in new snow. The plus side to all this? Ground hog day is coming. Soon. Fingers crossed.
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