My mom and brother share a January 31 birthday, just as my dad and I shared June 10.
Here’s wishing you both lots of love and many more birthdays.
Blogging in the afternoon seemed like a good idea at the time, but it apparently doesn’t work for me. By three p.m., my brain has switched from writer mode to wall-staring mode, since I’m basically a morning person.
I’m well and I’m hard at work on the new book, and I just wanted to let you know that we’re plugging along here on the Triple L. Bernicie and I even got a walk in yesterday–the air was so wonderfully fresh–stepping around mud puddles and the occasional stubborn patch of ice. She doesn’t even slow down from the moment she sees me put on my boots–it’s Hallelujah Day for her. Lots of yapping follows, and I have to remind her to stand still so I can hook on her collar and leash, and then we’re off, out the door, into the big, wide world.
It’s wicked slick around the barn, so the Canadian Wrangler made trails leading from the outside doors of the stalls with old shavings, making sure the old Buckaroo wouldn’t slip on the ice. Traveler, the little pinto, doesn’t step sedately out of his stall of a morning, like the gentleman he isn’t. He thinks he’s the Wabash Cannonball. Banjo has a Seabiscuit complex, and only the ladies, Coco, Skye and April, use any common sense at all. Coco, as the eldest mare, is the leader of the band, but everybody defers to Buck, out there in his muddy green coat.
The weather was sunny when I got up, but now it’s mildly overcast.
The jury’s still out on whether or not Bernicie and I will get our walk, but I’m thinking probably.
See you tomorrow.