Second Thoughts

Remember how I said Mother can now spend more quality time with me? I think she and I disagree on what quality time is.

I pictured hours spent by the magic window, with her handing me Mrs.Pastures cookies. Or perhaps going for a nice hand grazing walk. Or brushing me (when I didn't want to eat or sleep or do anything more important). But none of that has really worked out how I thought it would.

Sunday, Mother decided I needed a bath. She had a point, I suppose, but I don't really like the barn porch where I get hosed off. Mother didn't like the resulting dancing, not that that slowed her down... she just kept hosing away. And speaking of hosing, Aunt Marilyn has better water pressure at her barn, so I figured rinsing off would be quick and easy. Oh, no, I got rinsed, scraped, Mother muttered about suds, rinsed again, scraped again, more mutters, repeat forever. OK, at least four times. I'm not so good at math.

She shellacked me with two different kinds of fly spray. She braided my mane. My forelock. My tail...  which she then stuck in some old sock of hers and tied a bunch of baling twine to act as a substitute tail. I look silly, but I will admit, I kind of like the fake tail. It wacks quite effectively.

Tonight she put on my driving gear, and away we went. My driving gear consists of a nice fleece half pad, a surcingle, two lunge lines, and my halter. Since I've been at Aunt Marilyn's, she has added an unused rope rein intertwined in my surcingle and connected to my halter. I don't mind that rein usually, but I don't like that I can't reach the grass very well when it's on. Of course, in the back pasture, in places I do not even need to much lower my head to get the grass. It tickles my lips as we walk along. Surely Mother could stop clucking and saying "Head up!" and "Anhn-anhn" when I snatch a little grass seed-head here and there.

We walked in the back pasture, which I usually am only in just an hour or so a day as the red mare herd and I are "building up" our grass tummies. Mother says my grass tummy is building out, and she threatens me with a grazing muzzle. Anyway, we walked way in the back, where I never go because it is creepy, and something (I'm still not sure what, that's why I ran away) startled me and I started to bolt.

I must say, Mother has always been a good person to have with you during a crisis... remember the vicious, deranged squirrel? She has the ability to call out to me with her authoritative (and admittedly exasperated sounding) voice, and I know she is in charge of the situation and all is under control and I should STOP. I barely had turned and gotten three steps and she had stopped me.

Mother then turned me back to the creepy area, and we proceeded in a state of decorum. We did lots of driving around and turning and stopping. We went up by the garden paddock when the man with the truck and manure trailer was leaving, to make sure I didn't mind the noise. I was too busy trying to sneak grass to much notice.

We went into the "multi-use" paddock and she had me trot on the lines, around her in a circle, then a figure eight, then back to walk and a loooong halt,  and we went back in to the pasture for another little walking tour. I never get to trot on the lines, so it was different, but sort of fun. Mother was really pleased with me. Fortunately my leg hasn't been hurting lately.

I got untacked and DEWORMED in the aisle while all the others got there grain and hay. Aren't I a well rewarded horse for my hard work? Mother brushed me for a while because she said I needed to let the dewormer taste clear out of my mouth before I had dinner or I wouldn't like it. True enough. I hate when she gives me a treat after dewormer. Blech!

I got to eat my dinner in the courtyard.  It was a little saltier than usual,  but it tasted good that way. She said she put in electric lights or something like that.  That doesn't make any sense.

I did get my goodnight Mrs. Pastures cookies through the magic window, so it was kind of like I envisioned... but I certainly didn't expect all that other work!

Back to what is important... ME!!

Finally, the interloper is gone!* Mother said interloper(I mean cousin)'s people were coming for him today, and that she will no longer be spending time with him that should by all rights be spent with ME!

Mother wanted me to put a few more pictures of the interloper up. She says he'll follow her around and jump over things, and that I don't do things like that. Well, of course not, that is just ridiculous. Has he no dignity whatsoever?

Warming up with boring things like trot and canter... 

Then on to the fun stuff. He just finished the little in and out...

(I think this photographer is really bad!)

Proof of leaping, but still, that photographer's timing is off... snicker, snicker.

Oh, oh, look, the photographer has mastered the camera!

It is important to land balanced and ready for whatever is next... he doesn't look too bad here... In fact, he's ready better than the photographer. Hunhnuhnuhnn.

Mother says this is cool with a horse who hasn't even been trained to jump yet. I know I don't have to do that for a living... Mother loves me for me. I just have to exist, and she's happy!

See? I am so beautiful, I can just stand here, and everyone is enthralled!

*The interloper, I mean Romeo, is for sale. Anyone interested in Raising Cain, registered with the Nokota Horse Conservancy, can make inquiries to his owner Margaret, in Kentucky. He is slotted to be one of the Nokotas participating at the opening ceremonies at WEG.

Can you keep a secret?

So, I have a little problem. I am trying to hide it from the wolves, but I have got to tell someone because it is driving me nuts!

I have a drooling problem.

My mouth keeps filling up with drool. The other horses just let it all drip out, splashing it everywhere. Fools!

I must hide it. No one and nothing is to know I am drooling, because obviously drooling is not normal and I must be very, very, sick so NO ONE MUST KNOW!!

I keep my mouth closed. I try very hard not to let any drool out. If it starts to leak out and I must, must  release it, I'll let it out, but leave the area.

I know this has happened to me before, but I have no idea why. I just don't want any wolves to come along, see my near death malady, and attack!

I can only tell you because you don't know where I live...

I am not an Interloper!

Hi, it's Romeo again, Boyfriend's cousin. I remember Boyfriend from way back when I was little and he still lived with the bachelor herd in North Dakota. I actually haven't seen him since I've been in town. Aunt Mommie says Boyfriend is a jealous, spiteful sort, and would harass me in turnout after Aunt Mommie works with me if we were kept at the same barn. So, I don't really mind that I don't see him.

Aunt Mommie is not very happy with me right now. She was muttering last night when she brought me in from the field that I was too muddy to try to brush off. I needed to supplement the fly spray she had given me, because it just wasn't cutting it. It didn't seem to provide all day protection!

This is a stock photo of me on a "clean day", and this dirt brushes off really easily. Aunt Mommie likes for me to get dirty, so she can groom me. But I guess it is possible to take it too far...

So tonight when she brought me in, and I was even muddier, I figured I'd hear it. It started when she threw the rope over my neck, and put the halter on. When she went to pull the rope back over, it was caught in my mane, like really caught. She laughed a little, managed to untangle everything, and went to flip all my nearside mane to the off side. She tugged out a four inch long tree part from the mane and said, "And what is this?!" Uh, I don't remember picking that up. There aren't even any trees directly in my turnout field.

As she was walking me in, she noticed some... ummm... grass on my side. Not grass stains, grass. And not sitting on my back, but clinging gracefully in the mud on my side.

She snorted.

In the crossties, as she attended to my hooves and owies, she saw more green on the other side, an unknown flora species. She just patted my mud, and let me have dinner.

That was easy. But I have another problem.

I don't understand why I still have to call her Aunt Mommie. I want to call her Mother, like Boyfriend does. I've done everything I can think of. When she comes to bring me in, I always call a greeting and start walking to her, until she yells "LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, LEEEFFT!". That's an Army thing, when the drill sergeants would yell that in a tempo faster than one could possibly march. It was meant to tell them "Hurry up!". When Aunt Mommie yells that part, I always pick up a trot or a canter, and fly up to her.

I follow her around in the field or in the arena after I've been free lunged. I even jogged along loose behind her the other day when she jumped over some crossrails in the arena. See, I free jump!

I let her kiss me on the nose whenever she wants. I even put my nose up to the feed hole cutout when she asks so she can give me a kiss. And I used to not really like kisses... what if she bites my nose? I can't really see her very well when she is there.

So, I don't know what else to do. I can't really get any bigger, although I swear I've put on a half inch... oh, wait, the farrier is coming out Wednesday.

I keep a really clean stall. I've stopped messing with my waters. And I eat all my food. I'm doing everything I can think of.

What else can I do?!?

Scenic Route

I thought it would be nice to show you my postal route. Mother pointed out I don't technically have a postal route anymore. So, this is my scenic route.

We would start out down the steep driveway...

Down...

To the first bridge. Of course, on the other side, there is a hill.

At the top of that hill, down to the second bridge. See the fence on our right?

This is "the sheep pasture", although I've never seen any sheep there. This is where Devlin-Pony and I lived for the first few months when we arrived in Ohio.

Onward! Just past the second bridge is this: the creepy garden, from the land of small humans with the creepy garden. No small humans are out in this picture, but trust me, they are there lurking... somewhere.

Now up the long hill...

Up....

Past scary views...

And pretty views...

Up...

Till we reach the whole point of the exercise. "You have mail."

Going home is easier.

Down the hill

Down... I must admit, this narrow, dark part is a little scary...

...over the bridge...

Oh, look, there are my guinea hens! When I lived in the sheep pasture, I saw them all the time.

Down again to one more bridge, and almost home!

Except... of course...

UP!!

UP!!!

UP!!!!

You know, Mother drives by those mailboxes every day when she drives up to see me. SHE should get the mail! Then I can just stay with my red mare herd.

Where I belong.

Mother has her own day?

I heard the humans talking about Mother's day. I didn't know she had her own day. Apparently I should get her something. Or make something myself to give to her... hmmm.

Do I get my own day? I know what I would want! Mrs. Pastures cookies. Another 50lb box would be so wonderful...