We're just like Disneyland around here. We have a parade or two every day.

It's semi-impressive when all the critters show up for our daily muster and march to the mailbox. With two horses, three dogs and two cats in formation behind me, I feel like I should be waving a toilet plunger or some other baton-like implement.

It's unusual for the whole bunch to show up, though. Pepper is the most faithful marcher of the lot. "Mail" is one of the five words she knows for sure. ("Hush," "go away," "ball," and "OUT" round out Pepper's vocabulary. Experienced dog owners will note that "sit," "stay," or "come" are completely missing from my dog's repertoire.)

The cats only make the trip early on cool mornings. The horses usually fall in for the return trip, because that's when I'm carrying something that just might — maybe, perhaps — be edible. I must remind myself to take the time to stop and let them sniff and nibble on the mail I'm carrying to reassure them that it's not worth their bother.

I hate to anthropomorphize, to attribute human responses to animals, but I'm convinced all the critters around here think of me as Food Lady.

Pardner can walk to the mailbox unescorted, except for Pepper. The horses give him a wide berth, just on the chance that he's looking for them with some work in mind. I suspect that their name for him is the Work Guy. Since I'm the one who hands out goodies (and rarely catch them up, throw on a saddle and make them sweat), I'm a little safer for the horses to follow.

The work of a Food Lady is pretty easy, as long as all my squad are healthy. We have the dogs and cats on free feed, so I just make sure their bowls are topped off. The horses come to the fence by the house to beg for their treats.

I do provide Meals on Wheels when one of the band is laid up, though. Just last week Yard Kitty lost a fight and holed up under the bunkhouse for two days. I shoved bowls of food and water back under the foundation until she recuperated enough to return to the house.

Last year, old Big Boy wiped out in a midnight game of equine "Tag! You're bit" and crippled himself. He ended up under a shady mesquite, so we left him there to recover. I hauled water and food to him for a couple of days until he could hobble around well enough to fend for himself.

Getting to lead the parade is one of the questionable benefits of being the Food Lady on the place. It's a mildly hazardous job because Harley, the kid horse, is always right there in my hip pocket. When there's dissention in the ranks behind me — say, a heel dog instinctively closing up the herd by nipping hocks — Harley is always willing to run right over the top of me.

Maybe I should carry a lead pipe for my baton.

Just like Disneyland, we have magic acts around here, too. I can make two horses disappear, just plumb vanish. When I don't want the horses following me, I just carry a halter and lead rope on my trip down the lane.