As Trond predicted, the rain cleared before it got dark.  Betty the horse and her old friend Askur have moved down the hill to a winter stable.  It’s at a big old  farm that nowadays is on the edge of Oslo’s fairly hideous suburban sprawl.  It’s close to the motorway; I only hope that it doesn’t get eaten.  Here’s the driveway yesterday evening, as the rain cleared; one of many avenues of polled ash trees around here that are the symbol of the local county:

Horses don’t like being ridden when it’s foggy, they spook when they see monsters looming.

When I came home, I went to turn out the lights in the goat house.

Last week, Champagne — the only hen to have actually been hatched here — died.  She was quite old: eight, I think.  Now we have only one hen left and that’s Cloudy.  My daughter and I tried to find some more Faverolles to buy; they lay small eggs, but they’re very friendly and I like their feathery feet.  There aren’t any Faverolles available in southern Norway at the moment; so for now she’s on her own, species-wise.

For the first couple of nights, while my wife was away in Stavanger working, we let Cloudy sleep in a cage in the living room.  It got awfully dusty.  When my wife returned, she suggested that Cloudy might enjoy living with the goats.  Cloudy’s always spent the odd day in the goathouse; sometimes she lays eggs there.

We put her in with Vesla.  She’s got her own cage on the ground, on the right, below.  There’s also a family of tits living with the goats, you can see one sitting on the railing in the middle of the picture:

Every night Cloudy climbs up to sleep on Vesla’s bed.  Maybe it’s warmer up there or possibly they just like the company.