1:11

When I pulled out of Maverick's parking lot this evening, or this morning, it was 1:11am.  I thought, "Oh Noelle, pay attention to those numbers!"  Something is amiss.

It was a first, I believe, for me to leave at such an hour.  My feet are actually sore and feeling well spent.

The drive home was mine.  Only 3 other cars on the road between the tired dance floor and the return to my animals.  The sky was radiant with moonshine and the clouds were remnants of a recent rain shower.  In between the billowy sky characters, the stars and planets were peeking out.  To really make the moment clutch, I was listening to a little Cheryl Lynn, Got to Be Real, on my 70s on 7, courtesy of Sirius XM.

After getting inside and being greeted by the dogs who have no sense of time, something told me to step onto the deck and just listen.  Maybe Scout, my reliable Great Horned Owl, would be around.  Now, the clouds were really thinning out, much like a celestial archipelago.  The air refreshed by the light rainfall.  The earth had softened under the sunny agreeable days of late, and it is such a rich, fertile smell, one of sprouting life not far off.

And then, hmmmmm?  What is that most unusual sound?  It sounds like it's coming from the goat pen.  With my super sized mag light I looked out and I could the reflector patch on Alibi's rain sheet, in the goat pen.  I just had that feeling that my evening was not going to be considered complete without additional horse and goat love.

So, at 1:30am with a change of clothes and rubber boots to navigate the mud, I head out to assess the tomfoolery of my hoofed ones.  They really did it!  I cannot begin to imagine how or who but the panel attached to the tin sided goat shed was pulled away, straps broken, and completely perpendicular to the perimeter fence.  When things are secure, the panels meet at a V and create a haven for my goodles.  It was the most preposterous arrangement.  And so, enter the horses, or shall I say King Alibi, to shoo away the cashmered ones in order to eat their hay.

On my way out to the dry lot, I passed my little sleepy goodles giving me a drowsy "ma'aaaa" from inside the horse shelter.  The big bad boys had chased the little bad boys from their pen and they were telling me of the injustice.

Fortunately, that 1:11 was telling me I've got time but don't dawdle.  From the amount of the remaining hay in the feed bag, it could be reasoned that their seizure of the otherwise cordoned goat domain was recent.  Whew! A greedy consumption of herbage by one dominant equine averted.

Thinking about the clock, I took advantage of being out there and spread some green love for my Arab princes.  I am hopeful I can take advantage of a little extra shut-eye on a weekend morning as well.

Cock-a-doodle-doo!