At night I like to visit the sheep in the barn, where we all live, and watch them eat hay. I give them a night-night bale to remind them that the barn is where they live so they want to come in from the field, and to make them feel full and happy before they bed down. I have my light vanilla ice cream with mandarin oranges on top (I mash them in, hmmmmm, good) to make me feel full and happy before I go to bed. The sheep come in at night with bellies bulging from green grass. We've had plenty of rain and I haven't run out of grazing yet. But I still put the bale out. When I climbed up to the dark mow to pick out a bale, my headlight fell on a hen deep in the pile, sitting on eggs. Glad I saw her. I'll be buying hay sometime soon and she's right under the spot where the bales fall off the elevator. Ouch, that wouldn't be fun for her, or her unborn chicks. I'm about to hit the hay. I didn't learn what hay for bed really means until Eric went to VMI. The cadets sleep on a thin bed roll they call their "hay." There is no longer hay inside, but the synthetic stuff might as well be hay. What a life. But he's proud of being a VMI graduate. At West Point they sleep on cushy mattresses and have air conditioning in their rooms and eat four course breakfasts. Not at VMI. No AC and the food is barely edible. Toughens up the cadets for life ahead. Eric is doing great, blazing all kinds of Boy Scout trails, and having lots of fun.
Look at them, they look hey-per, and hay-py.
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