Not the King's English

OK Caroline....

I will be mindful of the quirks of those across the sea who speak that strange version of English.

I mean, tyres and lorries and wagons and windscreens and tea and whatnots....I spend a good part of my blog reading just trying to figure out what you "Redcoats" think you are saying. *G* Don't ya know by now the US has taken over the world and yall gotta learn ta talk like we do????? *very, very, very BIG WIDE grin ;)*

My riding arena and all the immediate locales were soaked this morning. The layer of snow had melted in the falling rain leaving behind more water than even my land can handle.

To note, I live in an area where the soil drains extremely well as I am atop an aquifer, a natural groundwater storage area. My soil has a layer of erratically placed clay under the topsoil and then several feel of beautiful sand. Somewhere even deeper are the underground water resources in other multiple layers. However, even a natural aquifer can only accept so much water and right now, I suspect the water table is rising ever higher. The result is that the surface areas are taking longer and longer to drain.

That means mud. And mud means Tucker has to be on limited turnout in the sandy surface of my riding arena.

Well, that was where I left him this morning. When I got home tonight, he was happily scavanging hay from the refuse pile in the soggy western paddocks with and equally happy Chance at his side.

Somebody dismantled a section of fencing around the arena. Since it is slip board fencing, the damage is repairable, but now that "Somebody" has figured out this is a way to escape, I will be spending the weekend nailing boards anyplace that looks vulnerable. *sigh*

Then, after I had decided it was really too wet to ride in my "not frozen ring" (go ahead, giggle ye of low minds) I fed the Boys and headed into the house for supper---or dinner or whatever you guys call it--my own evening feed.

I went out to give Tucker some more hay at about 7 PM to find the tack/feed room had been raided by none other than the 16.3 hand man himself who, this time, did manage to extricate himself from the narrow quarters after he had smashed the bucket of UGard powder, polished off a portion of sweet feed and thrown his own pellets and alfalfa cubes out the door.

I don't think he will get a late night snack tonight.

I'd be better off if he had ripped some blankets--uhm, rugs.......