As I approach the stalls, I see the first two on the left have been converted into a chicken coop,
with several hens clucking in their wire-mesh enclosure. In the other stalls, horses stick their heads out, curious about their visitors.
“Shep, this is incredible. Is this all yours?”
He looks up from where he’s scooping oats into four large buckets, his eyes soft as he straightens and squares his shoulders.
“Yeah, it is.”
I stroll down the barn aisle and stop at the first stall on the right, where the horse Shep was riding the day we met neighs his greeting. His copper mane reminds me of the color of pennies, and he has a white stripe running down his nose. A polished nameplate on the stall door has his name, Blaze, etched in block letters.
“Hello there, handsome.” I give him a scratch under his chin.
“Don’t let him fool ya.” Shep chuckles as he carries over two buckets. “He’s got more attitude than manners.”
“Don’t listen to him,” I whisper to Blaze. “You’re perfect.” He nuzzles my hand, letting out a soft snort. “See? Blaze agrees.”
Shep rolls his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart, but he’s only after the sugar cubes he knows I’m good for.”
I hold out my hand, grinning. “Well? I can’t let him down then, can I?”
Shep sighs as he pulls out a handful from his pocket and gives them to me.
“Thanks.” I offer a couple to Blaze, who greedily chomps them down. “Can I give some to the other horses, too?”
“Go ahead, but make sure your hand stays flat. Some of them can get overzealous and might mistake your finger for a snack.”
“Copy that. I’m off the menu.”
A ghost of a smile flickers across his face, the corners of his eyes softening.
As I walk to the next stall, a loud, persistent bleating echoes throughout the barn.
I furrow my brow. “Do you have sheep?”
Shep shakes his head. “Nope. A sheep wouldn’t be that demanding for attention.”
Eager to investigate, I follow the noise to the last stall on the right, where a shiny black nose pokes through one of the slats, letting out a plaintive bawl as I approach. Without waiting for Shep’s permission, I pull open the gate, revealing a fluffy Highland cow with a golden-brown coat.
“You’re the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” I gush, holding out my hand, letting the cow snuffle my fingers and press her head gently against my palm.
“Blaze might get jealous of all the attention you’re giving her,” Shep teases as he joins me, with a bucket of oats in hand.
“He’ll forgive me as long as I keep giving him sugar cubes,” I say, running my fingers through the shaggy tuft of hair hanging over the cow’s eyes.
Shep steps around me, tossing the oats into a trough in the corner.
“Sounds about right,” he agrees.
I nod to the baby cow who’s trying to eat my hair. “What’s this darling’s name?”
“Maple.”
“That’s the cutest. Did you name her?”
“My cousin, Birdie, did.”
“Oh. Does she live in the area?”
