R snuck over to my house last Friday, riding mower in-tow. See, my riding mower has flipped me the mighty engine bird. It refuses to turn on, second year in a row. Last year, it was repaired with a clean-up, and was cooperating. Oh no, not this year, nyuh uh.. Might bird flipping mower.. Anyways..
He mowed the front yard, and the sides, and even the back yard. Nice, generous, and short. Looks good.
Then, he mowed the arena. On his way to the arena, he reported Mo and Harley running laps up and down their shared fenceline. RUNNING, people. It's well over 100F heat indeces during the day where we're at. RUNNING... freaking nitwit horses.
Harley, seeing R on the mower, shortening his grass buffet in the arena, walked around in front of R, munching the taller grass. As the grass got cut, the 'tall stuff' got less, and less... and less.. and less..
And eventually, in total frustration, Harley took a look at R, stopped a minute..
and calmly left the arena, head hanging down.
Daddy-R cut off my Buffet, MaMa! I swore I heard him tell me at supper.