Today, I broke one of my "rules" out around the barns regarding closed-toed shoes and long pants.
From my early days at a working ranch camp, the intelligence of wearing sturdy shoes and long pants was obvious. The more solid the shoe, the less chance of injury to my feet, including but not limited to breaking my toenails on the underside of a horse's hoof, getting hay jammed into the tender bits, getting cut up on errant metal, getting ground-wasp stings, etc. Long pants kept away flies and bees, fleas and ticks. They also kept me generally cleaner
when the animals rubbed up against me in either pushiness or affection. Yes, it was hotter to wear heavy shoes and jeans, but it was just smarter
Regardless of the general smarts or lack thereof, I wore shorts and flipflops while doing feeding this morning. I was already in shorts, and it was just too much hassle to get changed beyond grabbing my more grubby flipflops rather than my "nicer" ones that I was wearing at the decision time.
It's quite a dance to keep my feet out from under the baby boys' pointy little toes. The big girls aren't so pushy, because I might grab one of them for medicating or other indignities. The big boys are usually pushing each other around rather than aiming for me or my bucket, so if I can stay out of the crossfire, I'm good. But those yearling boys are quite the mama's boys still. "Hi, Berry. Off my tush." (He'll stand on his back legs and put his front feet on my rear end to encourage faster forward motion. It's far cuter than butting me in the backs of my knees, but still not a good habit.) "Gyre, you have to move so I can walk." "Scout, I can't fill a feed bowl you're standing in." Etc.
But no, I did not sustain any injuries or major muddiness that could have been avoided with other attire. ... This time.