This is your daily "what to wear" update from the good folks over at WWMT Weather:
Good morning West Michigan! How can they always be so lively?
(Massive amounts of Water Street Coffee me thinks!)
Anyway, back to the forecast: "We're all waking up dry this morning, by the end of the day though, we will all be much wetter.
A strong, fall storm will spread rain into West Michigan this afternoon. This rain will get steady during the evening and may bring a thunderstorm or two. Another big story will be winds. Winds will rip across Lake Michigan tonight. Gusts could easily reach 40 mph; with a WIND ADVISORY expected for us."
Have a nice day. (What??)
WWMT Weather Team
This is very clear isn't it? It plainly states "There is a storm on the way. You've had fair warning, get ready now."
If I were like most horse owners, I would spend the rest of the day bringing horses in to put their rain sheets on them, securing the barn doors and making sure all hay feeders and water tanks are full. But that's not the way I operate. I am wired (or miswired) so completely different, that MUST wait until the storm is emminent, (lightning flashing on the horizon) before I even begin this process.
Then when the time is right, (wind, rain, thunder, darkness perhaps), out I'll go with an armful of rain sheets whipping in the wind behind me. I head out to the field, talking softly and cooing to my herd, offering a bucket of grain to their leader, Marq, the oldest and most docile of the bunch. The wind, however, has a way of making horses spooky. It can turn a 25 year old, slowpoke into a fiery race-horse running for the roses. Additionally, this behavior is catchy. All you need is one horse cutting loose, to turn the whole herd into a wild mob of mustangs trying to out run the Bureau of Land Management helicopters.
(I know. I'm not proud of it.) Ultimately I will collapse in a wet, exhausted, chest-heaving heap.
That's when it happens. First I'll hear a soft snuffling sound behind me. Then a fuzzy nose will touch my shoulder. I'll turn around and he'll be standing there all wide eyed and innocent, with the rest of the herd on his heels. It melts my heart everytime.
Rooted there in the wind and the rain, he will look at me with those soft brown eyes as I hand over the bucket of grain. With the storm whirling about us, he will let me halter him and head toward the barn, the rest of the brumbies single file behind us. I'll lead them into the warm bright barn, where bedded stalls and fresh hay wait. So satisfying; the warmth of the barn, the soft snorts and nickering, the sweet smell of hay..
I wonder what makes me tick. I could save myself so much time and frustration if I would just do things in a timely, orderly fashion. But I don't. Not ever. I know it baffles those who love me. Is it some weird control thing? They don't get it. I am equally disgruntled about my behavior, but seem to have no ability to change these extremely odd quirks I struggle with. I would change if I could, wouldn't I? And if I could, I should...right? Hmm..
Well looky there, it's hailing...gotta go, it's chore time! ;D