The Beast and her minions live year-round in the small pond in the backyard. There’s a pump that circulates water. Even in the depths of winter when the surface is frozen, there’s aerated and clean flowing water for the fish. When it gets cold Koi go into a state of suspended animation. They barely move. The Beast is twelve years old. She’s a savvy fish, and knows that when she slows down, she needs to stay safely in the cave under the big rock. A sure sign that spring has arrived is when she moves out of the shadows.

When the water is frigid, koi can’t, and shouldn’t, eat. So, even when the fish reappear, we don’t feed them until we make sure that the pond is the right temperature.

The other day it got above 50º F. It’s still chilly, so we feed a

I’d be hungry, too, if I hadn’t eaten for months!

Phoebe does not miss living with the hens. Not one whit.

She keeps her barn very tidy. She uses the corner litter box. She carefully eats up her rabbit pellets – none drop on the floor. When Phoebe comes in at night (to stay safe from predators we latch her door behind her) she gets something special, like half an apple, or carrot, or piece of raw butternut squash. She expects these things as her due. Try giving her something she doesn’t like, such as a dried apricot, and you will see what an outraged bunny expression is!

Mostly, I think, Phoebe relishes the peace and quiet of her own spacious and clean abode. Rabbits like to nap. Sometimes she sleeps in a nesting box, sometimes in the corner. Sometimes she sleeps in her hay pile.

We won’t be getting chicks this year. Phoebe has claimed this coop as her own.

The words good and bad are defined by those who use them.

The weather hit that sweet spot of almost 60º F. It’s warm in the sun but not too hot. It’s too early for biting insects, but late enough that the ground is soft. We can all agree that this is good.

The daffodils are pushing through the ground. The chickens have old leaves in the tangle of raspberry canes to scratch through. That’s good.

One chicken enjoying the dirt at the edge of the barn is good.

But, a half-dozen turning that slight strip of exposed soil into a wide swath of flying dust? The chickens say, the more the merrier. I call that bad.

The Goat Boys had an outing. Eating weeds and thorny runner vines in the meadow? We all agree that is good.

Scratching itchy heads on the peach tree trunk is good, too.

Eating the decorative cherry bush? That’s bad. At least I say it is.

Lano says that rolling in the dirt is good. His owner has another word for it.

Tonka says that a walk in the woods on such a day is as good as it gets. That I agree with.

Scooter doesn’t think that this weather is perfect. It’s not yet hot enough to sunbathe outside, however, he knows how to make the day very good indeed.

Yesterday we collected four brown eggs from the Girls. That means that Twiggy didn’t lay.

Her egg is large and white, so distinctive that it’s easy to keep track of her production. For two years, Twiggy laid six eggs a week, but she’s old for her breed and can’t keep that rate up. Currently, Twiggy is laying about one egg a week, and that one I feed to the dogs. Sometimes it has blood spots, and it always has milky, detached chalazae. (Chalazae are those tough white strings that hold the yolk centered in place.) So far, the shells are thick enough to enable Twiggy to safely continue to lay her eggs. I’m hoping that she’ll stop laying before the glitches in her system become calamitous for her.

Twice a week Beatrix lays her pretty dusky greenish-blue egg. Owly has yet to lay her blue egg. Misty provides us with two pearl white eggs weekly. Jasper lays a speckled egg once a week. I don’t know which of the brown egg layers are more productive than the others. But I do know that someone is laying a thin-shelled egg that breaks as it reaches the nesting box floor.

It’s beginning days of the laying season with an old flock. Time will tell how this will all settle out. For now, everyone looks fine. The lawn is frozen but free of snow and they’ve had some good foraging outings. This coming week the temperature is supposed to rise to almost 70! They’ll undoubtably find special places to dust bathe throughout the garden. I might not have a full egg basket, but the hens are happy.

I once knew a tall thoroughbred mare named Helen. Twice a day she was fed a couple of quarts of sweet feed, which is a mix of grains held together with tar-like molasses. Horses love this stuff and most gobble down their ration as quickly as they can chew. Helen took her time. After a half-hour her bucket was licked clean – except there remained a tidy pile of corn kernels. How did Helen manage to eat her dinner but reject the corn? A horse can’t see what they’re eating. Because of how the eyes are set on their head, the end of the nose is in a blind spot. Did she wiggle the grains out of the way with her nose? The muzzle and lips are rubbery and flexible, but it’s unlikely that they’re fine-tuned enough to identify individual grains of corn. Once inside of the mouth, it’s unlikely that she could sort out the corn. A horse’s teeth and tongue are very big.

Summer horse enrichment. Block of ice with apples and carrots.

I think that she knew which little bit was corn by feeling them with her whiskers.

Many mammals have specialized whiskers called vibrissae. Some animals, like rats, can wiggle their whiskers and their function has been much studied. Scientists even know that each of their vibrissa has a way to stimulate a nerve ending that goes directly to a dedicated part of the brain. (For more about that anatomy, read this.) Some creatures, like equines, have stationary vibrissae. Although I’ve seen numerous FaceBook declarations that information from a horse’s whiskers go to a dedicated part of the brain, I haven’t been able to find any research to that effect. I think that people are assuming that horse whiskers are the same as that of mice, but this isn’t so –  the ability of mice to move their whiskers sets them apart from a horse’s vibrissae. Still, a horse’s whiskers are amazing! (Please contact me if you have a primary source to research on horse whiskers and the brain.)

Despite not knowing exactly how a horse’s whiskers communicate information to the brain, it’s clear that these long and stiff hairs are very important to how the animal functions. The whiskers give the horse a fine-tuned way to feel what they’re eating before they ingest it. Horse are fussy. Although few are as selective as Helen, they all sift through food that to us looks the same.

Hay has seed heads, little leafy bits and tough stalks. Watch a horse eat, and you’ll see his preference.

Pasture is rarely all one plant. I graze Tonka where there are numerous varieties of growing things, leaves of different ages, blossoms that are closed, open, and turned to seed. Watch a horse in a field and you’ll see how selective he is.

Whiskers can also be used to suss out something new. Or, to know exactly where the farrier’s back is.

We humans see all hair as being decorative, to be styled, or to be removed. When I was in my teens I thought nothing of shaving off those ungainly whiskers on my mounts’ muzzles. People who show their horses routinely shave their horses for a clean look. I no longer do that, and it’s not affecting how well we do in competitions. Here is Tonka after placing second in our first recognized dressage show last summer. He looks handsome, doesn’t he?

Now I realize that removing the vibrissae would be like taking away one of my horse’s senses, one as essential as his hearing. It’d be a lot harder for him to navigate his world without those whiskers. I’m sure that when Tonka shoveled through the snow that he knew what was there by information sent via those long hairs.

Besides, I’ve come to appreciate how cute facial hair on horses can be. This is Hayden. From a distance he’s adorable.

Up close, even more so. He not only has whiskers, he also has a mustache.

It’s a good look on horses, but I still like my husband clean-shaven. Anyway, a man’s beard isn’t made up of true vibrassae. Sorry, guys.