I love my job, I love my job, I love my job...

Addy repeated the mantra over and over, trying to convince herself that there was some small amount of validity in the statement. But right now, there wasn’t. A short while ago she'd been told that one of the Millegan stage drivers had come in on one of the draft horses, saying the stage was bogged down, on the road past the Pike place, just this side of the stand of aspens. You know the spot. Addy had nodded. Stages and wagons had gotten stuck there before, they’d get stuck again. Could she take a couple of her draft horses out there? Their superior power, along with the six stage horses and a lot of luck and maneuvering, should do the trick. At least there were no passengers to worry about.

Addy had agreed. It would be easy enough. That’s what she’d thought, anyway. She hadn’t counted on the regular driver being ill. He was running a fever, and could barely talk, let alone work, so she had shooed him to the bunk room, then harnessed Sampson and Delilah. She rode the stage horse, ponying the two larger animals, heading out alone to try to free the stage. At least it wasn't raining today.

As they approached the stranded coach, the mantra had started to run through her head.

I love my job, I love my job, I love my job...

Now, as she rehitched the lead horse, she was muttering aloud, through gritted teeth, “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job…”

The valley narrowed here, and the creek, normally a small, benign trickle, was quickly becoming a torrent from runoff higher up the mountain, and it wouldn't be too much longer before it ran over its banks and spilled onto the muddy road where the stage was. If it wasn’t freed soon, there would be a whole different set of problems to deal with. Conditions were changing rapidly as it was.

With the stage team intact again, Addy jumped onto Sampson and rode him back and forth for several yards ahead of the stranded coach, testing the depth and consistency of the mud, to make sure, once she got it moving, it wouldn't get stuck again. It wasn’t too bad, so at least once the stage was free of the immediate bog, the going should be relatively smooth.

A gust of wind blew Addy’s hat off her head and into the mud. With a silent curse, she slipped off Samson, landing in several inches of muck, to retrieve it and nearly lost her boots to the suction of the mud. She plopped the filthy hat back on her head.

I love my job, I love my job, I love my job...

It took a bit of time and a lot of improvising to hitch her two draft horses to the T-bar that was only meant to accommodate the six horse hitch. It would have been better to have the massive Percherons in the wheel positions, but that would entail rearranging the whole hitch. Now it was merely a matter of brute force and a bit of finesse from the eight horses.

As Addy stepped up to the box, the mud finally managed to claim a boot. “Son of a ...” She looked down in dismay at the mudlogged boot, then to her soggy sock. So far, her feet had been the only part of her that was dry. So much for that...Shaking her head, she jumped into the muck to retrieve her boot, slipped, and landed on her rear in the slim.

Sighing, she looked up at the horse closest to her, hovering over her. "What'er you lookin' at?" she grumbled.

I love my job, I love my job, I love my job...