*

I forgot to add that I would not have a job in this ideal world, which is non-ideal.

Murphy’s Law of Horses

Any trouble a horse can get into, a horse will get into.

My new job has me in Vancouver on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. This requires me to leave Farcical Farm by 07:00 at the latest, and I don't get home until 20:00. The long days don't trouble me, but they do mean that our 1/3 acre horse paddock only gets thoroughly mucked on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays. I do pick out the shelter during morning and evening feedings when it’s wet, but all other manure that falls while I am at the office is left to its own devices.

Have I ever mentioned that I am anal about keeping the paddock clean? In my ideal world* I could do it twice a day every day, so my psyche finds this once every other day shtick a little hard to take. As such, I often muck the paddock in the morning on days when I am home and then leave the huge wheelbarrow in a corner until the evening so that I can do a second round. Normally I pop the manure fork over the fence so that the horses cannot stomp on it, but I didn't do that today. 

I could see from the tracks in the gravel that Fizz had at least one hissy fit about this predicament before simply deciding to wait for rescue.  She was totally calm by the time I arrived, and adeptly adapting her stride to accommodate this strange fifth leg.