Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
But really, how many people actually get to enjoy what they do for a living? I'm positive it’s a very small percentage. We all can’t be veterinarians like Dr. Harris. The thought is jarring, and I’m so suddenly wondering if part of my resentment towards him is because he’s doing exactly what I wanted to do.
I don’t even get a chance to explore that thought as my phone rings. It’s my boss—calling me for the fourth time. Rolling my eyes, I let the phone ring a couple of times and then answer.
“Hey, Josie,” Hilda says. “How are you hanging in there? I know this is a very difficult time for you.”
“We’re adjusting,” I say, not wanting to lie about my situation.
“I know that you unofficially have the rest of the day off,” she starts, and I’m glad we’re not on a Zoom call so she can’t see me rolling my eyes. Of course, she would throw in the fact that this is an unofficial leave. “We got some reports back and they have big discrepancies. I was hoping you would be able to take a look at them and send them back to me before five PM tonight.”
Hilda is a good boss. Overall, I have minimal complaints about her or the company I work for. But I’ve worked for them long enough to know that I will only get asked nicely once like this. After that, there will be consequences if the job isn’t done properly and timely.
“Send them over,” I say, internally wincing at my own words. I don't have time for this. But I know, eventually, I won’t have a choice. I have to start working again on Monday and, as much as I don’t want to input data, I have to if I want to continue providing for these animals, myself, and my daughter.
“It might be just a little after five,” I tell her. “If that’s alright.”
“As long as I get them by the end of the day that will be fine. Thank you so much, Josie! You really are a team player. Take care. Bye!” She ends the call and I put my phone down with a sigh.
“You can do this,” I remind myself. I refill my coffee cup, adding a splash of creamer, and go back out to the barn. I was hoping to finish dusting in the barn today and then figure out how to put the fan back up that Baldur had knocked over when the horses all escaped from the pasture. But the horses don’t mind the dust and it’s not going to be brutally hot over the next few days. What really matters is that everyone is fed and taken care of, and I can definitely do that as well as work at the same time. But the other stuff—training and getting the horses ready for adoption—well, there aren’t enough hours in the day.
Summer will be here before I know it and I can count on Everly. Well, at least for the next month or two before I figure things out. What I really need is a few employees...or actually, volunteers. This is a rescue, after all. I would’ve jumped at the chance to volunteer at a horse rescue like this. I make a mental note to Google how to become a 501 charity as I head back to the barn, coffee in hand.
I take Thor out for his fifteen-minute walk, and then head up to the front of the yard to let him graze. The grass is horribly overgrown, to the point of being embarrassing. It was overgrown when we got here a few weeks ago. It’s to the point of looking feral now. There’s a lawnmower in the storage shed behind the house. I saw it when Dad and Elijah were looking for tools to fix the front porch.
I’ve never used a riding lawnmower; though, I’m sure it can’t be that hard to figure out. I can watch a quick YouTube tutorial and get at least the front yard mowed in, hopefully, under an hour.
I bring Thor back into the barn, and switch out Balder with Bailey, making sure Thor has a buddy so he doesn’t get upset. Then I end up messing with the lawnmower for way longer than I intended. And the damn thing doesn’t even start.
It’s two-thirty by the time I get back in the house. I’m sweaty and itchy from laying down in the grass when I looked under the lawnmower—as if I could figure out what was wrong with it. According to a few things I found on the Internet, I think the belt is broken. I don’t even know what that means, let alone how to even attempt to fix it. No wonder the yard was so unkept when we got here. The lawnmower probably hasn’t run in months.