This morning I was immersed in a complicated dream about spring grass and trespassing moose when the lights in our barn flicked on and a hideous face shoved itself into mine. "Sheabber", it said "id timbe to ged ub". The face was blotchy and it had beady, bloodshot eyes and a reddened nose. On it's head was a strange, bulky shape with flaps and fasteners. My heart rate soared as I prepared to flee the invading sasquatch but it proved to be the woman wearing her new hat and suffering from what Jack calls "the grippe". She coughed at me in a phlegmy sort of way and undid my stall guard, saying. "Oud you go, and doand dri to sneag bagh in while Ib pudding oud your hay". Sneak past that? I hardly think so.
Doc is having other winter woes, caused by our windows being completely frosted over with a thick layer of rime. He has a large window in his room that overlooks the house and driveway and he checks it regularly to make sure our territory is safe. Imagine his dismay when he wasn't able to complete his usual security check. He left his hay untouched and called the woman over. She thought he might be ill and felt his ears and feet and fussed over him but he just kept turning back to the window.
She finally figured out the problem and, hacking and wheezing away, used the plastic rectangle upon which our treats are prepared to scrape his window clear. He knew exactly what she was doing and helpfully kept his chin on her shoulder the whole while. When she was done he heaved a deep sigh, nudged her arm in thanks and gave a long surveillance stare outside. She has now purchased an automotive ice remover for exclusive use on Doc's window.