This is the plan: in good weather, when FarmWife would rather be riding, she will sit in her office and look out the new window that FarmHusband built for her. I will strategically place myself in the corner of the new barn that FarmHusband is building for me, and by craning my elegant and curvaceous neck I shall present to her my lovely visage. She will spy me, and joy will be struck into her heart. I will spy her, and hunger will be struck into my tummy. Joy will inspire her to carry forth delectable dried grasses, and hunger will inspire me to whicker a soft and lovely greeting. All will be right in the world.
It is this sort of thing which makes working more than bearable, and which makes FarmWife terribly lucky to have the sort of job that she has. It is also this sort of thing that makes being me more than bearable, and which makes me terribly lucky to have the sort of FarmWife that I have.