Elizabeth Anglin

I haven't posted lately because my life has been so quiet, and unfortunately, some part of my ego likes to post when it thinks the post will be dramatic, interesting, a wiz, bang, pop! of a message. 

But, there haven't been many wizzes, bangs or pops around to write about lately.

Right now, two very different dogs are sleeping on the couch.  A black lab and a Tibetan mastiff.  The mastiff runs on a very quiet current of energy, nothing too extreme or overly enthusiastic, except for food left on the plate after dinner, or food being eaten as a snack in the middle of the day.  His gentle eyes look up to me so full of hope and expectancy.  "Your cracker is my cracker, right?"  "Your cookie will be shared with me, right?" "I love you for sharing your cookie with me in the future, you know... that moment when you finally do share your cookie with me... I love you for that." 

The black lab is more boisterous and less food motivated.  "It's morning! Wake up! Wake up! I'm so happy to see you! Happy day! Happy day!  Let's play tug of war! Come on! Come on!  I love you!  I't's so much fun to see you again today! Come on! Let's play!" 

After feeding the dogs and the cats "If you are feeding the dogs, you are going to feed us, so get on with it... where is it? Where's the wet food? Come on, we are waiting.  Well, finally!" 

I put on my muck boots and wade through the snow to the barn. I enter through the feed room door where TNT can see me first "Ahhh..." he says as he spies me in the feed room for the first time each morning. "It's breakfast.  It's so nice when you bring me my bucket of mash." he lets out a deep, resonant nicker and happy sigh as I open the door to the tack room where his soaked mash is waiting in the sink.  Otto throws his head up and down while I feed T.  "Come,,, On!  Come.. On!  No... Really!  I'm .... Hungry.  Come..... on!"   Once he gets his sweet feed, he attacks it, throws his ears back, and warns me "This is mine, don't even think about me sharing it with you!" "OK sweetheart." I say, and leave him to eat in peace by grabbing a snow shovel and heading out to clear the walkway and the pasture gate of snow.

The sky is blue, the aspens are a shade less white than the snow, but seem made to color coordinate.  The barn eaves are covered in icicles, some five feet long.  The icicles sing in a soft chorus. "Drip-drop. Drip-drop. Drip-drip-drop. Drip-drop."

As I said.  Not much happens around here.  It's pretty quiet.