It was one of those days when the grass is brown, the sky, grey, and the weather, rainy.
As I walked the dogs, I watched them roll so that their top sides matched their muddy undersides. Even the usually clean Mickey wore a smudge on the white stripe of her forehead.
The horses got into the act, repeatedly rolling and grinding sand, mud and water into their thick winter coats.
It's not supposed to be 60 degrees in January.
At the barn, I walked through mud as I did the evening chores.
That's when I found the one bright spot: a brown, mud-streaked egg in the chicken yard.
It was cracked, so it becomes a dog egg. The three Border collies are playing Paper, Paper, Paper to determine who gets it. But it was an egg, the first egg in over a month. Maybe I'll soon be eating eggs again.