The Princess and the Man of Snow

 The very real anxiety that I had bitten off more than I could chew, had eyes bigger than my belly, spread myself too thin, gone too far or any other idiom you care to add kept me from writing blog number 2. (I was thinking yesterday I wonder if someone who had sat on people's heads, had a few lessons on sitting on people's heads and had a few looks inside someone's skull whilst someone else did the surgery might wake up one day and decide they'd take on being a brain surgeon. "I mean, how difficult can it be?". I've had to learn a lot, it was worrying me. No so the horses. They've not been worried,  just got on with the job of being a horse. The rhythm and pattern of being their sole attendee is fascinating. I knew routine mattered and worked hard to get that established.  I didn't count on the speed at which they would also build a routine of their own. The most noticeable is the weather vane. It goes like this. Feed. Snowman eats the lot of his,

Did I say that it might be a good idea to live somewhere with horses at the end of the garden? Did I? Did I think it was a good idea? A week is a long time to ride a learning curve steeper than Everest. I am thinking of investing in a CCTV, mainly because the numbers of examples of my own stupidity are too many to recount and they are not quite as funny in words. This week I have mostly been: a) Trying to dig my car and trailer out of mud that I voluntarily drove into, ignoring the bright red warning signs flashing in my mind that said "don't do it". I was in socks and sandals! Who actually wears that, let alone drives into a mud bath with them on? b) Wrapping up a haystack to keep it dry only to realise I've wrapped it so well I've left no means to get back into it. c) Deciding that Dotty and Snowman had been here long enough to know whose stables is whose, so opening the gate for them to put themselves to bed only to spend the next half hour chasing Snowman who