For all those that happened to inhale the fragrant fumes that day, the air smelled of fresh-cut grass, leaving an impressionable and nostalgic sense of wonder.  Henry almost missed playing with the wheels of oat-coloured haystacks that were perched on the side of the dry chocolate hued shed. But he went back to gently give them a brush.  He liked the way his strokes caused the separated edges to lean into each other.  And peak into the opening of the barn doors.  (I could swear I saw them do it.) I'm the narrator, so boo.

Now, meanwhile in the barn, Maggie and Mo (two udderly fabulous females) were taking their time, just going through the motions of what Maggie and Mo did all the time. Kind of boring, if you asked me. Mooing, chewing, re-chewing (the already chewed fibrous, green mash of grass, oats and Omega 3-enriched feed), chewing again, mooing, tasting, tail-wagging, fly-chasing, mooing and re-chewing–then finally discussing that days' to-do list.

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