A snowy morning that didn’t bring out the best in me. Lilja kicked over her bucket and I lost my temper.
After guarding the two mares so they could eat in peace – I told Lilja she could bloody well eat off the floor, though I did try and pick up most of it – I was followed around the field by this little irk.
Newt: “Feed me”
Me (feeling for a non-existent rib): “No!”
Newt: “Feed me, please”
Me: “No!”
Flossie was dishing out carrots (3 each, all counted out) and had put the hay out in little piles too.
But Newt wanted food, real food.
He was holding out to have what Fivla was having.
A nice sloppy bucket of grub.
She was very happy.
if slightly revolting!
A felt a tug behind me….. Another one.
Storm: “Feed me”
Me (feeling for a rib): “No!”
They have hay. Loads of hay. I know because Floss and I lugged 3 haynets down the track for them.
He’s in my dreams.
Newt: “Feed me”
Me: “No!”
All I can think of is the musical “Little Shop of Horrors” with “Feed me, Seymour” racing thru my head.
Not that I am comparing Newt or Storm to a monster but the pleading looks! And Fivla can look as grubby as she wants as long as she keeps the weight on right now. thanks for all the close-ups of kissable Noseys.
Feed me, Seymour. You are so right. Nothing link Steve Martin
Such crazy faces today. Love those doodles, even when you’re a bit mad at them.