Relative Something

*this* John W. Hays' take on things and experiences

Frosted Whiskers

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We knew it was dramatically cold outside before we even got out of bed.

BANG!”

It appeared that either someone had dropped an anvil on the roof over our heads or the extreme cold was distorting the components of our roof and/or the snowpack frozen upon it. It’s the second time this week our structure has complained in the form of a loud boom overhead in reacting to the depths to which the cold has bitten.

The horses haven’t complained. They are impressively stoic about the deep freeze but they can’t hide the icing that collects on their whiskers and eyelashes.

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Light was modeling some gorgeous frozen eye lashes Wednesday morning.

At double-digits below zero (F), they don’t try to lick their feed pans clean, an exercise that otherwise happens regularly. At these temperatures, their own saliva freezes as it contacts the rubber pan when they’ve gobbled most of the pellets.

On any other day, that pan would be licked spotless.

As I was snapping photos of Light’s icy highlights, she decided to show me her tongue can still be used for other purposes. Was she sending me a message?

At least she didn’t make the “raspberry” sound toward my general direction.

“I love you, too, Light.”

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Written by johnwhays

January 21, 2022 at 7:00 am

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