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Valerie put her hands on her bent knees, pausing for a breather. She eyed the pens and buildings around her and wondered how her aunt had done all this by herself. So far this morning, she had diligently hefted cubes of feed to the various animals—ponies, donkeys, mule and horse, bunnies, goats, and sheep—had poured chicken feed and scratch into the chicken’s dish, managing to spill half in the straw that covered the bottom of the chicken coop, and had given water to almost everyone, except the pen with the evil donkey. That was because a hose wouldn’t reach out to that pen and she had to use the hose in the barn to fill up five-gallon water buckets and haul them back and forth to the trough with the water heater until it was filled up again. Not something she was looking forward to. Already her arms ached, and a picture of herself with arms like Arnold Schwarzenegger surged into her mind. With a shake of her head, she straightened and continued pushing the wheelbarrow with chicken crap in it along the packed snow to the dumping area a ways away from the buildings. She’d already decided that it wouldn’t be possible to clean every single pen in one day. At least not with her skinny, out-of-shape arms and core.
“Hey, you,” she greeted Gus as he bounded through the snow toward her, disappearing into the snow every time he landed and then reappearing with each bound. When he got to the path she was on, he shook himself heartily, but snow still smudged his nose. Valerie smiled at him, happy to have his company. He was better than the donkey. At least Valerie had a truce with the pony Martha wanted to take into town for the Christmas festivities and Nativity scene. She wanted to get over to brush Peony, but cleaning the pens came first. She wondered how often Martha dedicated time to that task, since the pens were already fairly clean. It must have been often.
After dumping the manure onto the frozen pile, she wheeled it back to the barn, parking it in a corner. The chicken coop was clean, all the animals were fed, and now she just had to get water to the last big pen.
In a dark corner of the barn, several buckets were stacked along with a large shelving unit attached to the wall with various odds and ends strewn about the shelves in no particular order, many with no particular use that she could see. On the tall bottom shelf sat a huge antler rack of what may have been a moose, while on another shelf were jars with various nuts, bolts, different sizes of screws, and the like. Another held some type of liquid. That was creepy. She made a face as it snagged her gaze. Her hands twitched toward the shelves and she desperately wanted to organize them, but she had to stay on task and get the water out to the horse, mule, and donkeys. The horse whinnied at her as if he knew she was thinking about diverting from the task of getting him water.
“I’m coming,” she called.
The water came out of the hose—lukewarm, thanks to the heat tape wrapped around the length of it—sluggishly, but then the stream strengthened. She didn’t dare fill the bucket up all the way. What was it she’d learned in school? It was near eight pounds for every gallon of water? She winced at the thought, but took a solid grip on the handle of the bucket and hauled it several feet before placing it down with a huff to catch her breath and doing it again and again until she got to the trough. The gelding walked over, head bobbing and ears tilted forward curiously. He got to her and lowered his head to snuffle the water in the bucket. His breath ruffled the water, but he didn’t touch it. He lifted his head and used his soft lips to nibble at Valerie’s shoulder.
“Hey, buddy, no biting.” She gently pushed his nose away, but gave his fuzzy cheek a scratch. He was beautiful with soulful blue eyes and pure-white markings surrounded by brown.
“Let’s get this water into your trough. Think you can help me?”
He snuffled the arm of her jacket and turned away.
“You’re a wealth of help,” she called after him. His only response was to lift his tail and let out a long series of farts.
“Ugh.” Valerie turned away and hefted the bucket. It filled the trough up fractionally.
Several more trips had her back aching. She stood straight after the final bucket with a groan and a hand pressed to the middle of her back. The mule came over and nuzzled her cheek before lowering its head for a long drink. She rubbed the mule’s neck while looking around the pen. Suddenly, she frowned. Where was that insufferable donkey? She stepped away from the mule and scanned the pen frantically.
“No, no, no!” If she lost one of Martha’s beloved animals, she would never forgive herself. She checked the gate—it was solidly latched—and then in the barn. No Sir Charles.
Okay, think. She forced herself to calm down. Where would he go? She left the pen and methodically checked around the smaller barns, the shed with Martha’s gardening tools and several shovels, and around a few scattered pens that let the smaller animals play in a new pasture in summer. No sign of the animal, but her gaze caught on the house, and she frowned. The front door was open. Why was that? She’d latched it securely when she’d come out.
Jogging to the house, she found both doors open and peeked inside before going in. Snow had been tracked in, and an off-smell hit her when she entered. It was earthy and—she stopped and stared. In the living room sat Sir Charles, the donkey. His large, gray behind was perched on the edge of the couch, and he was nibbling on a bowl of popcorn Valerie had made as a snack and left on the coffee table. Gus sat below him and snatched up any of the pale kernels that fell. In the corner, a lighted Santa she’d set out had been kicked and stomped, the head now feet away from the smashed body. A side table had been knocked over and, in the kitchen, puddles were being made from the tracked-in snow and a glass container had been knocked off the countertop and shattered, spreading flour all over the tile door.
Valerie shook her head, maybe she had also been hit on the head. After a few slow blinks, she decided she wasn’t delusional and, indeed, the donkey was sitting on the furniture in the house in front of her. Letting her head fall back, she stared up at the ceiling, wondering how circumstances could conspire to create situations like this for her. No one would ever believe her if she told them.
“Listen, you and I may have gotten off on the wrong foot, but even Martha wouldn’t let you in the house like this. You have to go back to your pen.” She stepped forward. Her heavy snow clothes were making her sweat in the warm house, and she wanted to get back out quickly and finish with the daily chores so she could work with Peony some before the sun set at its early time thanks to the winter season.
She took a firm grip on his halter and tugged. When he didn’t move, she pulled harder. “Come on. You can’t stay here.”
As if she wasn’t even there, he stretched his neck out and snuffled the bowl, his fat, equine lips leaving green grass smears over the bowl as he searched for more popcorn. Apparently, he decided that it was of no more use to him for he picked the glass bowl up in his teeth, tossed his head up and down a few times, then let the bowl fly. It smashed into the opposite wall and pieces of it crashed to a stop on the floor. The donkey perked his ears at it as if surprised it did that.
Valerie’s gaze went from the donkey to the mess and back as she stood there in disbelief.
He looked over at her and reached his nose out to nuzzle her jacket. A slow smile touched Valerie’s lips as she gazed into his mischievous eyes. Leaning forward to place a kiss on his soft, fuzzy face, she stepped back and walked away, leaving the door open as she stepped out. Slowly, she walked back to the barn by herself. Sure enough, the crunch of hard snow on the trail behind her announced Sir Charles following along.
Opening the gate wide, she waited as he trotted in, only pausing to look back when she shut the gate with a thud.
She marched over to the barn, went inside, and grabbed a small can of grain. Shaking it brought the animals into the large stall inside that could be quartered off by sliding a two-by-four across the open space. Luring Sir Charles in was easy, but the gelding—who she swore she would ask Martha what his name was—tried to get into the space as well.
“Back. Back up.” She pushed on him and, though he was a big boy, he backed up until he was out of the space. Letting him nibble a few kernels of grain eased whatever irritation he felt at being rejected, and she grabbed the wood, sliding it into place. “Gotcha!” She winked at Sir Charles, glad she’d finally fixed his little red wagon.
Sir Charles nosed it and then stared at her. She gave him some grain that he lipped out of her palm and patted him on the neck.
A few handfuls of grain distributed to everyone left the animals happy and snuffling her as she slipped out of the stalls and into the main part of the barn. Time to take Peony for a walk and put her bareback saddle on her to get her used to it again. When Valerie had found it, there had been a layer of dust over it, and she assumed Martha hadn’t had the time or desire to use it in a long time. Maybe they wouldn’t need it for whatever Martha was planning to have Peony do, but at the least it would get her used to having something on her back and more stimulation than she’d had in a while.
With a smile, Valerie headed out.