For some odd reason I love the word hay. I don't know why, I guess I am a bit strange. The last time I picked Abby up from the city and brought her to the country we passed by a field of miniature horses and she said "Hay!" I said "what?" She said "no Grandmother, hay." She had spied some large round bales of hay in the field.
Like this one.
See the holes in the hay?
Everywhere you look there are numerous holes in the hay.
Now the horsey folks that read this will already know this but what the horses do is burrow their heads into the middle of the bale of hay for the freshest. As the bales sit in the weather they form a kind of outside protection and the horses know where to get the best eats. Our hay bales are under a tarp so they are protected but the horses still root to the middle.
Kinda cool huh? I would have loved this as a child. I never remember having any hay other than the square ones. I guess Dad knew that I would probably jump right in the middle of this and ruin it for the ponies and goats. Speaking of that, last winter Joe put Abby in the middle of the hay ring and that was a mistake because she wanted to get back in it immediately and every other time we went in the pasture all winter.