Okay, I’ve got the NY AG coming to visit tomorrow, which ordinarily wouldn’t be a problem. I have nothing to hide here, but (you knew that was coming, didn’t you?) it has been raining steadily for three solid days and I can’t even get my 4wd truck around in this red clay. And tonight it is going to snow, but (again with the but) the weather guys can’t predict how much. Somewhere between one and ten inches, depending on to whom one listens (go college ed). So, it could either be tricky, or impossible. Hope these city boys come prepared to walk. I’ve been trying to find the phone number of the woman to whom I spoke (there we go again) to check in, to no avail. No NYC area codes in my phone memory. Bah. Bah bah bah bah and HUMBUG even.
And we’ve got 15 or 16 more horses arriving next week (in the mud). I’ve got one field big enough to quarantine that many, but I’ve got to remove the current occupants (so it darn well better stop raining because I really don’t feel like walking those ponies across Montpelier in the mud and the snow and did I mention I have a nasty cold?). Yep, I’m venting. Ranting? It isn’t really a problem, and I can do it, I just feel lousy and it won’t freaking stop raining! Oops, there I go again. This red clay is something else. If it isn’t sucking your boots off, it’ll have you on your face (or butt) before you can even get your hands out (or holler the appropriate obscenity). That’s a drag, because I do like to cuss up a good storm when it is thirty-eight degrees, I am soaking wet, and have to strip naked before I’ll even get back in the dog truck (the freaking DOG truck, people!) to drive home. Sigh. Just as an example: last night when I brought the horses in, I took Double Jeff straight into the wash stall and hosed him down, blanket and all. That is red clay for you. I should have taken pictures. No one outside of VA Clay Country will believe this mess.