The sun’s not yet up. The sky is a cold silver-tinged with reds. Even before I step outside, I can see from the kitchen window that all eight horses have their eyes glued to the door of the house in anticipation. They are looking for me, for my approach, for my errands of service to them. As I walk from the house, towards the shed which serves as our barn, the horses begin to nicker from their night pens. I slip from a low down deep throated hum to a soft whistle and back to a hum again, this morning it’s an Argentinian Tango. ‘Lucky’, the Australian shepherd, follows me, excited for responsibility. The horses bob their noses and shuffle front feet as if to say ‘it’s about time.’