Around noon I went up to take off the sheets we put on the horses last night – it was about 27. Lensman was standing next to the shelter watching me, his sheet slightly twisted.
“I’ll help you,” I told him.
I started unfastening it and as I undid the last buckle, Lensman reached to his right and yanked on the sheet with his teeth so it fell off into the snow. He looked back at me. I laughed. He had never been trained for that.
I bundled it up and started to walk out of the paddock with it, and as I turned around I glanced back in time to see him drop to the snow, slowly, ever so slowly. And then he lay there for a moment… until he rolled over, feet in the air. Once. Then again.
“Too hot,” I muttered.
Slowly he stood and shook himself. He had liked rolling in the snow. I had liked it, too.