More snow. If you want to call it that. Wet, heavy stuff here, about as close to rain as you can get without it being rain. In town, it was more rain than snow, a gloppy, slippery mess on the roads.

Of course, I worry constantly about the horses. If the temperature goes up, they’ll have to be blanketed so that they don’t get rained on. If the temperature drops, they’ll have to be blanketed so that they don’t get snowed on.

If the temperature holds steady, in the mid-thirties, we’ll be okay. But it won’t. There seems to be, as of late, a wide variation in temperatures.

DMV bookcase

I envy Deb Moore, local horsewoman who moved south, to Oklahoma a few months ago. If she were here, she would be looking out at a manure/mud filled pen and wishing she moved south. Instead, she’s probably looking out over a lovely pasture and elated to have made the right decision.

The book project keeps me here. If we didn’t have this going on, I’d move. Pete is now the voice of reason. He says that we don’t have the money to move, nor the retirement funds needed to tide us over. Way back when, we didn’t worry about these things. Rather, we moved here and there, taking our chances. But now he’s got a more conservative bent to him. Me, I’d go.

But again, there’s the book project, which in some ways is a noose around my neck. I fear sometimes that the flooring will be pulled out from under me. This is just the nature of the free enterprise system. I am going to have to continue to deal.

I’m still sick with a common cold. I am congested and can’t hear very well. I’m driving everyone nuts. I’m driving myself nuts. It takes a few minutes to get the hearing aids in place and to adjust them to my deficit, and I don’t have the time. I have to do this at home, and if I don’t do this at home, it does not get done at all.

It’s darker than usual, and the weather’s nastier than usual, so I am reading light, upbeat books. Last night I started to read All Good Dogs go to Heaven, and am enjoying it. It’s a series of short stories. I was surprised to hear that most of the stories are told from the dog’s perspective. So I have not been far off in writing about my conversations with my animals and will soon resume doing this.

I mainly need to write about my conversations with Ryder and Shadow. Ryder and I are so on the right wavelength. Shadow and I, not so much so; although I think that if we do a trek, we’ll become more connected.

The horses and I will always be connected, but I am aching to spend more time with them.

I don’t ache to spend time with the chickens, but I miss hanging out with them. I also miss hanging out with the goats.

Back to reading All Good Dogs go to Heaven.

Next: 327. 11/28/23: Up, up, and Away