Blame it on the Lunch Lady

Lucy and the boys flunked the sand portion of their most recent fecal tests. Not good. An accumulation of sand in the gut can cause colic, which is the last thing we need around here. Since they've tested sand-free up until now, I'm blaming the drought. The pasture grass is very short, so they might be ingesting more dirt and sand while they graze, and the area where I feed them is dry as a bone, so they're probably picking up sand when they toss their hay out of their tubs and eat it off the ground.

Yesterday I decided to nip part of the problem in the bud by moving their feed tubs into the stalls, where there are rubber mats instead of dirt. They did not embrace the change.

Lucy: You want me to eat in there with them? I don't think so.

George:  I didn't invite her to sit at our table. Did you?

Lucy, George and Alan may have burned as many calories as they consumed

while they jockeyed back and forth between stalls. 

Me: Alan, do you have to pee?

Alan: Yes, but I'm not about to give up my spot at this tub.

Hank dictated who ate where and when...

...with the simple flick of an ear.

Lucy: Meal times were so much simpler when the Ethelettes were here.