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Hilarity

I am abiding, thank you for asking: not much has changed, and I am still reluctant to bear weight on the left foreleg, but FarmWife is soaking and poulticing away like a crazy woman and I think it's having some beneficial effect. At least, I bore weight on the left hoof long enough for her to clean out the right, the effort of which would have made me crumple the day before! It's progress.

On another note, I want to clear something up. There has formed a mistaken impression here at Bent Barrow Farm that our White Andalusian hen does not lay. She does, and today the proof was revealed in a shower of old eggs.

FarmWife, as she often does, climbed up the hay tower today. FarmWife, as she often does, grasped a bale above her (without looking at its top). FarmWife, as she often does, gave it a tug and sent it tumbling to the floor beneath. FarmWife, as she never has before in her life, was pummelled by whites and yolks and shells and some bouncing, hardy ovals which made it all the way to the barn floor without breaking. Two dozen, at least, if not three—enough to make a decadent wedding cake, I should say, if they were not of such questionable freshness!

It was all sorts of hilarity, I tell you, and went some way towards lightening everyone's mood in the barn this morning. FarmWife thought she had freshened herself up thereafter, but she just reported having found yolk in her hair while at work. FarmWife, you are not helping the cause of promoting equestrians as hygienic workmates! (Were you raised in a barn?)

Ears,
FenBar

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