Is there such a thing as a "Typical Day"?

I was wondering about that this morning.  I would have to say that my typical day is atypical.  Or is that an oxymoron?   My days have shifting chores - depending on the behaviour of the indoor group, the weather, the traffic to/from the job, how much sleep I got or didn't - on a whole variety of variants.  (Redundant?  My third grade teacher, Mrs. Puca, would be rolling in the hereafter...)

This is my day so far:

Awake, tossing and turning at 2:30A.  Force myself to stay in bed and try to go back to sleep.  This was the result of eating later than usual and having two glasses of wine.  The cast iron stomach of my youth is way gone.  I am also trying to adjust to a small, warm bundle of Velcro that snugs up against me.  Pepper.

3:20A, I give up and get up.  Much yawning, snorting, clicking of nails from outside the bedroom door.  Everyone goes out - they are very good at rocketing off the deck without barking.  I am sure my neighbors, whether they know it or not, owe me.  Then pat the three little black and white cat heads that surge around my ankles. 

I pad off to the kitchen and plug in the electric water kettle.  My coffee method du jour is coffee concentrate made with my Toddy.  (Thank you, Sylvie.)  A dash of cream, a tiny spoon of sugar, and I am off to check email.  You never know - someone might have sent me an important message between 10P and 3:20.  Not.  I put in a disc from my current book on CD, let the dogs in, and curl up with my coffee and Pepper.  And Cookie.  And Kramer.  And, not to be left out, the front end of Lovey.

By 4:30A, I am revived and go make another cup o' joe.  Then I wash yesterday's dishes, sort out the cat and dog food, and pack my lunch.  Then I go sit down again with the usual suspects.  By 5:30A, I am making my bed and slipping seductively into barn clothes (multi-patched jeans, giant t-shirt from a Juvenile Diabetes Walk 18 years ago).  I wade through the various pawed ones, lift Pepper's bowl off the floor (cue hysteria) and go get a quarter cup of kibble to soak in homemade chicken broth.  Gently heated.  I then pick up the other two bowls (more hysteria - this time affecting the cats, too) and portion out their kibble.  Much yipping and snorting (Scrappy snorts).  When the broth is juuuust right, I portion it out and then add Pepper's softened kibble.  I then portion out the cats' every-other-day helping of canned cat food.  Complete hysteria, including spinning and talking in tongues, while I put down their bowls.

I head down the hallway towards the cat room - Kramer gets his food separately because he's skinny and a slow eater and needs more time than the other two butterballs.  The other two get theirs in the office, behind a closed door.  I'll skip over the cleaning of the cat commode, etc. - by then Pepper and Lovey are frothing around outside the baby gate in front of the cat room.  We go out for a walk, making sure all 'business' is taken care of.  Come back, let the cats out of the office - dogs surge in to clean up any missed molecules.  I had out crunchy treats and make my breakfast.  I labor over my crossword puzzle, listen to the weather, then head outside. 

Chickens first.  My latest typical day includes filling the Nuggets' feeders and waterer, then opening the door and watching them as they launch themselves like giant led balls, landing in various awkward and ungraceful positions before lumbering off to the feeders.  The Tweenies shoot out, happy to be away from so much body fat.  Then I left the babes out (all SIX - my lost guy came back!) and fill up their feeder and waterer.  THEN, I open the chicken door on the main coop, tossing down any treats from the kitchen, strewing a handful of scratch feed, and fill up their feeder and waterer.

On to the sheep.  Everyone gets a good scratching behind the ears (Norman is still a little twitchy), then I go into the barn and bring out the hay.  It goes in two piles - the boys and Apria; Juno.  She doesn't share.  Then I fill water buckets, check the garden  - just in case the tomatoes that I checked on last night miraculously ripened overnight - and I check the hummer feeder.  Dry.  Go inside and fill with homemade nectar and replace.

More hysteria upon re-entry - Lovey must have a bee in her bonnet, as she has managed to snag my reading glasses and chewed one stem a bit.  She goes in her crate with a stern warning.  Not TOO stern, as Pepper is very sensitive to loud voices.  I finish my lukewarm, well, cold, coffee, change into work-type clothes, squint into the mirror (it's amazing how much better you look when you squint), comb hair, brush teeth, apply five seconds of make-up, bid everyone hasta la vista, and head out the door.

Aren't you glad you asked?   You didn't?