If it has four legs and belongs to us, it gets fed.  Thems are the rules when it snows.

The car (my poor mother would be shocked) has become the “croft car” with the promise that I will vaccuum out all the hay bits come Spring (yer, right!)  Still, it does the job fine and gets around in the snow.  Brakes seem to be a bit random at times but we are still alive so that’s all that matters these days.

Floss and I go on our travels daily to check everyone in Leradale. Although I could see evidence of digging through the snow for grass, Floss and I took three stuffed haynets over as well as the mandatory carrot.

We put down little piles of hay all around the “hay park” and everyone had at least one to eat so there could be no fighting.

Some even shared.

Some didn’t.

And some most definitely wouldn’t!

Newt’s whizzy little bottom has become a bit of a legend this winter.  He is like the rotating turret on top of a tank.  We have had words.  He chooses to forget them and his behaviour is shocking!

They have water close by – the streams through the field are thawed and flowing. I check.  Water is so important.

Everyone seems very content for us to lug their hay to them.  It’s our job. It’s what we do.

Jolly good.  I am not worried about this lot.