Well, sort of home.
I got a call from Mom today and she started with, "Ida called..." First, let me tell you that phrase chills my heart. Estes is no spring chicken and I'm constantly dreading a phone call that could be bad news. Read: my baby girl is dead, dying, or needs to be put down. To date, I've only had one bad phone call from Mom, but with Estes' increasing age, I constantly worry.
Sorry - got off track.
It was bad-ish news, but not about Estes' health. Ida just needs her herd off the pasture, so Estes has been evicted from fat pasture. Only, it's too cold and snowy for Her Highness up the mountain right now, so I had to scramble to find her a place for the next six weeks.
Luckily, I have an amazing friend who I've worked with for several years who lives not far from me and who has a pen I can lease until it's warm enough to move Her Highness up the mountain. I'm not going to lie, I'm kind of excited to have her only ten minutes from me.
Now that I know I have a place for her, I can allow myself to get excited that I can go hang with my girl every day.