The girls at home are very happy. The evidence is that where we should get an average of 8 eggs per day, we're averaging 11. Happy chickens. They make sounds around me when I sit that are calming and peaceful and sound a lot like doves. They coo. And they tell me what they want at other times. And Walkabout so trusts that we will be there to put her to bed that she waits by the gate to the paddock now. (She used to wait by the barn.)
I would describe the Lipizzans here as doggy. Not as needy as dogs, but very centered on their humans and with humans they prefer. I am honored (floored, actually) that they allowed me the license they did. I've never had a strange horse be so willing to let themselves be petted or scratched. They usually check out my smell, my voice, and that's it. They're done. Not these guys. Coming into the ring late this morning, each one stopped and put their nose into my hand. Tonight at evening feed, Pooka was flirting with me, trying to charm me, Judy says. As she says, he is hard-wired through careful breeding to appeal to anything with XX chromosomes. I'm no exception. I'd be in his herd any day.
I always thought that it was me when llamas and thoroughbred horses didn't give me the time of day. Heck, I do great with cats and dogs (not to mention chickens). But it might not be me. It might be that they just don't dig people that much, esp. people who come without food to talk to them.
But, to return to where I started, when a farm is a nice place to live, the animals are happy. Making it one involves paying attention to them and really caring about them. One of the more bizarre things about this trip has been how much this desert farm has parallels to mine, from how the animals feel to being on well and septic and surrounded by development.
Getting very sleepy, but there's one more horse encounter tonight.