I may have mntioned that I arranged with Pheel to come and top, harrow and resed the paddocks on Wednesday. I may also have mentioned that Pheel is a great bloke whose only real vice is a tendency towards the optimistic when it comes to time frames. Determined to get the paddocks done on schedule, I took the precaution of contacting him beforehand to remind him that I still had that handy pole in the garden and some rusty nails with which to nail his bollocks to it should it come to pass that for whatever reason he couldn't make it. I only use this vilest of threats infrequently, lest he begin not to take it seriously; it lurks there in the back of the kitchen drawer full of random useful bits and bobs for when I really need it.
Meanwhile Rui had worked the boys on Monday and departed for fairer shores on Tuesday, so I was pleased to be anticipating an evening of doing very little after a very busy day at the orifice. Pheel arrived as I got home from work and we formulated an action plan, where it rapidly became apparent that the mares would have to come in during the day, which of course necessitated me laying a bed and doing water and haynets for them, then getting up even earlier than usual to bring them in before heading off to work. So much for my evening off.
As a result of this I can say with some authority that it is tactically a good move to drink a large cup of tea just before bed the night before, to facilitate an achingly, eye-poppingly full bladder with squamous cells at full stretch to assist the waking process (well, not so much assist as nuke). The downside is that it necessitates what might be described as "the Max Wall jig" in front of the bog, but you can't have everything.
I can also advise, in aid of those who might for whatever reason still be asleep at that time, that it is bloody dark at 5:15am and it's best to make more tea and attend to the array of hungry felines before venturing outside to bring in mares who are (a) unaccustomed to being harassed at such an hour, and (b) definitely unaccustomed to being brought into a brightly lit stable.
Q of course, in that unerring way that he has, somehow knew something was occurring and was on hand to yell and whicker repeatedly throughout the bringing in process, which was nice. If you're reading this Dan, my apologies for the unseemly noise at such an ungodly hour! Once in, the girls quickly settled (well they are Lusos after all) and off I went to work.
Upon my return to the homestead some hours later, bog eyed and bleary, there occurred what can only be described as biblical quantities of rain and both Sid and I got soaked through to the knicker elastic as we attended to the variety of chores that needed doing - moving the chain harrow, getting rugs on two very soggy boys, turning the girls out and watching them put on a truly fine aerobatic display, mucking out two very shitty stables, feeding round and so on.
But the paddocks have been pruned and the garden pole can remain unfettered by famer gonads for a while longer.
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