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I look up to see Dean looking down at the cell.
“Yes. They’re good foragers that do well adapting to heat and cold. They’re friendly, usually they don’t get broody, so we won’t be fighting to get eggs.”
“I am not sticking my hand under a bird for eggs. I’ll leave that to you.”
“Aww, are you scared of a little ole chicken?”
“No.”
“Uh huh, sure.” I giggle, putting my phone back into my pocket. I walk around the barn, giving the horse stalls a last look before dragging a bag of bedding to the first one. I pull out my knife and slice along one end. When I tip it up, the bedding needs only one good shake to fall out.
“You look like you’ve done that before,” he teases.
“A couple of times. It’s like riding a bike.”
My cell rings again, making me jump. I pull it from my pocket. “Hello?”
“Hey, sweet pea.”
“Hi, Mama.” I hit the speaker button and set the phone on the top ledge of the stall.
“Are you still looking to open up that barn of yours?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re out here now getting ready for two rescue horses. And we will be getting a few laying hens Friday.”
“Oh, that sounds promising. How do you two feel about adding a Jenny to the farm?”
I watch as Dean looks at the phone. His brows pinch together at the word Jenny.
“I mean, I’m not opposed to adding a donkey,” I say so he knows what she means. “But why are you asking?”
I shrug when he meets my gaze.
“We have a two-year-old, sweet as molasses, but the others aren’t so nice to her. She’s a little smaller than they are, and the horses are assholes to her.”
“Mama, your horses are assholes to everyone but you. They even hate me, and I’ve never done anything to them.”
“If you want her, she’s yours; otherwise, I’ll have to sell her at auction or something.”
I look over to where Dean is standing. He has his thinking face on. Finally he nods. “I’m down. Might be nice to have something loud on the farm. From what I’ve heard, they are very protective creatures.”
“She’s a sweetheart. I’m not just saying that. She is one of Jezebel’s grandbabies.”
“Oh, then hell yes.” I explain for Dean’s benefit, “Jezebel was my granny’s old donkey. She was the sweetest girl. An apple a day and she was willing to do anything for you. She died a few years ago. I think she was in her late forties.”
“They live that long?” he asks, astonished.
“Yes, horses, mules, donkeys—they all have long life spans.”
“Well, alright then. We do have another open stall over here. I’ll go grab bedding.”
“Mama, can you and Dad bring her over? We haven’t gone to get a trailer or anything to pull one yet. That isn’t an expense we can handle just yet.”
“We can do it,” Dean calls out.
“No, we can’t. I’m not draining your savings account for that. We are doing enough right now. Let’s pace ourselves.” I chuckle.
“Well, he didn’t take much convincing.”
