It doesn't matter that I feed my equines generous amounts of grass hay four times a day.
It doesn't matter that they have unlimited access to 80 acres of rangeland pasture.
It doesn't matter that they have never missed a meal in their lives.
What does matter to them is that they have something to chew on. Every. Waking. Moment.
I took these pictures in the hour before dinner, while they were working their way through the appetizer menu.
George tried the dirt-covered sticks first,
followed by the hay stuck between the stall guard and the wall...
...then the dried-up poop on the rake. He does not have a discriminating palate.
Alan selected the root end of a dead broom weed, which he cleverly pulled himself.
Lucy had a craving for tumbleweeds.
She didn't need a fork to pick them out of the tightest spaces.
Lucy: Want some? I'll share mine if you share yours.