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I flicked on the lights and Nikko and I went into the barn. Rusty was still grazing on the hay he had strewn about and I assumed Floppy and her newborn fawn had not yet ventured out and remained snuggled in the stall.
“Watch your step,” I said, skirting around a manure pile. “Horses can be very indiscreet with their bodily functions.”
“So I see,” Nikko said. “But, hey, the place looks pretty good, except of course the mess the horse made. Do they always cause this much trouble?”
“Well, in my experience—which is not extensive—I think horses are like any living, breathing thing. Some are angels, and some are, well, a pain in the ass.”
“And ol’ Rusty here?” Nikko said.
“He’s somewhere in between,” I said as I pulled out my manure bucket, rake, and shovel. “I mean, when Summers an
