Mother has been woefully absent of late. I thought she had turned the corner when she came up two days in a row, but now once again, abandonment. I am not even sure how long it has been... Forever?
In good news, Aunt Nancy and the man came to visit. Aunt Nancy is always really nice to me, although she doesn't really give me cookies. She says nice things about me and to me and always sounds very admiring.
Mother says the hos(pi)tile takeover is nearly complete, and that she'll come see me more often again very soon. But I know for a fact that she went somewhere after work tonight instead of coming to see me. Something about calculus and college?
There's a big difference between an equation, Mother, and equitation. It might seem like just two little letters, but there is a world of difference. Really, how do you want to spend your time? Where are your priorities?
When Mother does come up, she often puts the weight tape around me, squints, pulls it tighter, sighs. I have found that if I exhale, she seems happier, so when she pulls it tight around me, instead of blowing out my belly, I try to suck my belly in. I seem to get more cookies that way. I am actually a very good boy about the weight tape. Mother used to laugh at me because I was very nervous of the weight tape. Saddle? No problem. Weight tape? CREEPY! Mother said I looked like Bugs Bunny figuring out he was getting measured for the stock pot.
That's not a very nice thing to say. That sort of thing can happen. I don't want it to happen to me!
I had the strangest dream the other night... Is it because Mother has been neglecting me? Anyway, I found a way to re-enact for my readers. Click this button, but I recommend you just listen and not watch, because the video isn't really me. Oh, for backgound information, Mr. Smothers is Mother's cat. He and Aunt Nancy discussed some of the dangers of the world outside the house... "snake bite, dog attack, or vehicular felinicide".
And one last qualifier. I am a good horse. But Aunt Nancy oh-so-very-occasionally uses bad language. This re-enactment is exactly how the dream happened, so it is verbatim. My apologies to any young impression-ables.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Shout out to Fenway
Fenway,
You are a wise mule, well experienced in the ways of humans, and the proper training of cookie and care humans. I have a query: How do you keep your FW so close at hand? Mother keeps abandoning me. Sure, the aunts provide me with my food, and I have plenty of equine companionship, but why is she not here every evening with my cookies? How hard can her "work" really be? How many excuses can she come up with?
Oh, this photo was, of course, inspired by you. It's not quite right, but the best I could do, with my shabby photographer.
You are a wise mule, well experienced in the ways of humans, and the proper training of cookie and care humans. I have a query: How do you keep your FW so close at hand? Mother keeps abandoning me. Sure, the aunts provide me with my food, and I have plenty of equine companionship, but why is she not here every evening with my cookies? How hard can her "work" really be? How many excuses can she come up with?
Oh, this photo was, of course, inspired by you. It's not quite right, but the best I could do, with my shabby photographer.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
A most peculiar happening
Something strange happened today. If you had asked me a year and half ago, I wouldn't have thought it out of the ordinary. But now...
Mother took me onto the barn porch, brushed me off, picked my hooves. She then put the saddle on me. Hmmmm... I have had to wear the driving surcingle a lot this last year, but a saddle? She did put one (or six) on me back in the winter, when she was thinking of taking me to Equine Affaire and I would demonstrate what a travois horse would have looked like. She wanted me to get used to having odd articles on me, around me. One evening she put saddle after saddle after pad after saddle on me until it reached ridiculous heights, and her fellow boarders laughed at me. Hmmph.
Well, a saddle is fine, I guess. Perhaps she is going to ground drive me through the stirrups. She had done that a long, long time ago, before she had the surcingle to use.
Mother then fusses with my bridle, putting my bit on it. What....?
She puts the reins over my neck, asks me to lower my head, and holds the bit up to my mouth. I happily oblige. She adjusts it to fit my head (Hey!! Why is it adjusted for someone else?), replaces my halter, and puts the lunge line on and brings her lunge whip. We head out to the multi-purpose paddock (it used to be an arena, but now the footing is nothing like an arena). We commence lunging.
I am good. Bold. A smidge boisterous for a moment at canter, but I haven't had stirrups to bob about my sides in forever. Sound as a dollar bill... sounder. We only lunge for a few minutes in each direction. Mother has never been real big on making me go in small circles.
We head into the small pasture sans line and halter. She places me near the fence and the step stool thing. She said it was better to not ride in the mountain lion paddock, since I haven't really been ridden up at Aunt Marilyn's mountain hideaway, and in case I did remember anything. She places me near the fence and the step stool thing. She clambers onto it. Why is she way up there? Creepy... yet parts of this feel familiar.
She puts her foot in the stirrup, and I remembered what this was all about!
I stood very still. She swung aboard, her left hand slipping a bit because I no longer have mane to grab (and whose fault is that, anyway?). We strolled in the small pasture for a minute, maybe. We walked out into the back and directly over into the multi-purpose. She had me walk into the center of the paddock, and asked me to stop. She then disembarked. Less than three minutes all together, I bet. Well, that was easy!
I sort of remembered what to do as she asked me to turn in the pasture, or any sort of guiding where I went, but that was a long time ago. I relied on my old tried and true method. If in doubt: STOP. She rode me in a saddle last spring, and a few times in early summer, but then realized I was not quite right. She hopped on me bareback once in all of the second half of last summer, and that was the day before I went down for surgery. Really, much more time has passed since I was last ridden than total time I spent learning to be ridden, so I shouldn't be expected to remember that stuff. It was nice to spend all that time with her again today, though. And I got two Mrs. Pastures cookies after I was untacked and brushed down, as well as my normal little itty bitty cookies before she left. Yumm...
I'm not sure why Mother decided to ride me. I know in the winter my surgeon had said if I seem comfortable enough she could, and that I'd probably enjoy having the personal attention of light riding. Mother says she doesn't expect anything, just would like to walk around for five or ten minutes a few days a week, and she could work on her two-point, too, whatever that is. She says she'll keep a really close eye on how comfortable I look.
So, should I limp (just a little) tomorrow, do you think? I mean, she'll give me cookies either way...
Mother took me onto the barn porch, brushed me off, picked my hooves. She then put the saddle on me. Hmmmm... I have had to wear the driving surcingle a lot this last year, but a saddle? She did put one (or six) on me back in the winter, when she was thinking of taking me to Equine Affaire and I would demonstrate what a travois horse would have looked like. She wanted me to get used to having odd articles on me, around me. One evening she put saddle after saddle after pad after saddle on me until it reached ridiculous heights, and her fellow boarders laughed at me. Hmmph.
Well, a saddle is fine, I guess. Perhaps she is going to ground drive me through the stirrups. She had done that a long, long time ago, before she had the surcingle to use.
Mother then fusses with my bridle, putting my bit on it. What....?
She puts the reins over my neck, asks me to lower my head, and holds the bit up to my mouth. I happily oblige. She adjusts it to fit my head (Hey!! Why is it adjusted for someone else?), replaces my halter, and puts the lunge line on and brings her lunge whip. We head out to the multi-purpose paddock (it used to be an arena, but now the footing is nothing like an arena). We commence lunging.
I am good. Bold. A smidge boisterous for a moment at canter, but I haven't had stirrups to bob about my sides in forever. Sound as a dollar bill... sounder. We only lunge for a few minutes in each direction. Mother has never been real big on making me go in small circles.
We head into the small pasture sans line and halter. She places me near the fence and the step stool thing. She said it was better to not ride in the mountain lion paddock, since I haven't really been ridden up at Aunt Marilyn's mountain hideaway, and in case I did remember anything. She places me near the fence and the step stool thing. She clambers onto it. Why is she way up there? Creepy... yet parts of this feel familiar.
She puts her foot in the stirrup, and I remembered what this was all about!
I stood very still. She swung aboard, her left hand slipping a bit because I no longer have mane to grab (and whose fault is that, anyway?). We strolled in the small pasture for a minute, maybe. We walked out into the back and directly over into the multi-purpose. She had me walk into the center of the paddock, and asked me to stop. She then disembarked. Less than three minutes all together, I bet. Well, that was easy!
I sort of remembered what to do as she asked me to turn in the pasture, or any sort of guiding where I went, but that was a long time ago. I relied on my old tried and true method. If in doubt: STOP. She rode me in a saddle last spring, and a few times in early summer, but then realized I was not quite right. She hopped on me bareback once in all of the second half of last summer, and that was the day before I went down for surgery. Really, much more time has passed since I was last ridden than total time I spent learning to be ridden, so I shouldn't be expected to remember that stuff. It was nice to spend all that time with her again today, though. And I got two Mrs. Pastures cookies after I was untacked and brushed down, as well as my normal little itty bitty cookies before she left. Yumm...
I'm not sure why Mother decided to ride me. I know in the winter my surgeon had said if I seem comfortable enough she could, and that I'd probably enjoy having the personal attention of light riding. Mother says she doesn't expect anything, just would like to walk around for five or ten minutes a few days a week, and she could work on her two-point, too, whatever that is. She says she'll keep a really close eye on how comfortable I look.
So, should I limp (just a little) tomorrow, do you think? I mean, she'll give me cookies either way...
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
As the Boyfriend Turns
Humans often seem worried about color. I don't understand why this is. As for me, Mother laughs that I am just what she deserves. She has for many years gotten upset when people call grey horses roan when they are obviously GREY, yet what am I? Both! I am a black based roan, but also have the grey modifier.
I have my black points, started out with a black face, and all my cuts grow in with black hair, seemingly even as I grey.
Right now, I am in parts flea bitten
dappled: my dapples are much more noticeable this year than ever before
and still a nice, even roan mixture of hairs.
I am a horse of many colors.
Mother says there is an advantage to my being a roan, if I am going to end up white/grey everywhere: Roans shed their coat colors at different times, and that allows for my stains to not set in quite as well, providing a cleaner looking appearance.
She likes the fact that I am never the same color more than a few weeks or months in a row. I would go very dark (mostly black) for middle of winter, go to white end of winter, shed again to a deep summer color, blow to white, then start darkening for the winter again. Of course, I end up not as dark each time, as I am greying...
Enjoy watching my color flip, flop, and mature through the years... funny, my mane and forelock also seem to ebb and flow:
 |
| 11/07 |
 |
| 03/08 |
 |
| two weeks later |
 | ||
| 06/08 You can faintly see my "stripes" (those aren't ribs, trust me!) |
 |
| 11/08 |
 |
| late winter/early spring 09 |
 |
| 09/09 |
 |
| 11/09 |
 |
| 01/10 |
 |
| 01/10 |
 |
| 04/10 |
 |
| Hey! That picture doesn't belong in here!! |
 |
| 09/10 |
You'll notice, of course, the prevailing theme... how handsome I am!!
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Blindsided: or, How to Startle Your Human
I gave Mother a bit of fright today. It started when she came to bring me in; as we walked into barn aisle I saw the driving lines and brushes waiting. Well, saw them out of my good eye. My right eye was bothering me, so I mostly kept it closed; Mother discovered it was swollen, although not hot, nor weeping, nor any obvious sign of trauma or other disturbance. She sighed.
I am the one in discomfort! Why was she acting put out?
She stared at me, and sighed some more. I didn't really like her touching it, so she decided to give me some of the banana-that's-not-a-banana-but-I-can't-pronounce-it stuff, and forgo the cold packs, since it wasn't warm anyway. The aunts showed up and also peered at my injured orb, declaring that it didn't look like that when I got my mid-day hay.
I patiently accepted the tube in my mouth. I never spit out dewormer or probiotics or banananmeal or any of the other things Mother tubes me with. She went to the the feed room to get me a cookie. She forgot I couldn't see out of that eye, and pet my back as she walked past me. This caused me to, umm, startle, and I launched myself upward and forward, but stopped short so I wouldn't injure the aunts. Well, and technically I hit the crossties, too. While Mother apologized to me and the aunts, this was not the incident that prompted me to educate you on How to Startle Your Human.
So, after scaring me half to death, she gives me a Mrs. Patures cookie... she has been doling them out to me singly occasionally, as my feet haven't bothered me again and my figure has been staying just below what she calls "a thousand weight tape pounds". It's so good to have Mrs. Pastures again..... yummm!
WARNING: Mother told me I should let you know from this point forward that there is graphic content and visuals, so if anyone is squeamish, now would be their cue to stop reading. I don't see what the fuss is about...
Oh, so I eat my cookie, and a few minutes go by, and she starts my dinner cooking, and is chatting with Aunt Carol... when I spit up brown foamy sludge all over my face. Mother stared at me in horrified fascination. Aunt Carol looked quite perplexed. Mother then laughed at me, and regretted not having brought her camera. My aunt took a quick picture with her little phone. I was left standing there, humiliated, a strand of mucousy brown phlemy badness strung from my mouth over my noseband, into my bad eye's lashes and eyelid, even up and into my ear. I dropped a little more of the mystery sludge onto the floor. Mother went to get paper towels.
She grew alarmed as I continued to expel brown stringy foamy saliva-y matter. She says it really looked like dog bile vomit, which we know is impossible, because I am not a dog. She wondered about choke, but I wasn't snorting to expel the stuff, and there was nothing by my nose. She decided to put me in the stall, so I could drink if I wanted, and she would observe me.
I glucked up a bunch of clear slimy mucousy saliva as I entered, and smeared it all over my chest and front legs. It was so humiliating. Mother wiped me off with more paper towels, and was staring at me in the oddest fashion. I then proceeded to move my mouth a few times, without producing anything, let out a sigh, and started seeking schnibbles of leftover grain by the doorway.
Mother was flummoxed. If I was choking, this wasn't exactly a normal presentation. My dinner was cooked, and is a soft soaked sort of thing. After a phone call and some consultation, she gave me my dinner... at least we could figure out if it was choke, she said. Um, I don't want to choke!
I consumed my dinner with relish, with normal swallowing the whole time. She fed me a smidge of hay, with no ill effects. She came back a few hours later, and I am still my wondrous, healthy self. My eye even feels and looks a little better. Mother was relieved, but still seemed a touch perturbed by the day's events.
The aunts will watch me tonight, according to Mother, and she promised to come see me early in the morning.
The moral of the story: Apparently, all you need to do to freak out a human is release creepy mucous from your mouth.
I have to admit, it freaks me out, too.
I am the one in discomfort! Why was she acting put out?
She stared at me, and sighed some more. I didn't really like her touching it, so she decided to give me some of the banana-that's-not-a-banana-but-I-can't-pronounce-it stuff, and forgo the cold packs, since it wasn't warm anyway. The aunts showed up and also peered at my injured orb, declaring that it didn't look like that when I got my mid-day hay.
I patiently accepted the tube in my mouth. I never spit out dewormer or probiotics or banananmeal or any of the other things Mother tubes me with. She went to the the feed room to get me a cookie. She forgot I couldn't see out of that eye, and pet my back as she walked past me. This caused me to, umm, startle, and I launched myself upward and forward, but stopped short so I wouldn't injure the aunts. Well, and technically I hit the crossties, too. While Mother apologized to me and the aunts, this was not the incident that prompted me to educate you on How to Startle Your Human.
So, after scaring me half to death, she gives me a Mrs. Patures cookie... she has been doling them out to me singly occasionally, as my feet haven't bothered me again and my figure has been staying just below what she calls "a thousand weight tape pounds". It's so good to have Mrs. Pastures again..... yummm!
WARNING: Mother told me I should let you know from this point forward that there is graphic content and visuals, so if anyone is squeamish, now would be their cue to stop reading. I don't see what the fuss is about...
Oh, so I eat my cookie, and a few minutes go by, and she starts my dinner cooking, and is chatting with Aunt Carol... when I spit up brown foamy sludge all over my face. Mother stared at me in horrified fascination. Aunt Carol looked quite perplexed. Mother then laughed at me, and regretted not having brought her camera. My aunt took a quick picture with her little phone. I was left standing there, humiliated, a strand of mucousy brown phlemy badness strung from my mouth over my noseband, into my bad eye's lashes and eyelid, even up and into my ear. I dropped a little more of the mystery sludge onto the floor. Mother went to get paper towels.
She grew alarmed as I continued to expel brown stringy foamy saliva-y matter. She says it really looked like dog bile vomit, which we know is impossible, because I am not a dog. She wondered about choke, but I wasn't snorting to expel the stuff, and there was nothing by my nose. She decided to put me in the stall, so I could drink if I wanted, and she would observe me.
I glucked up a bunch of clear slimy mucousy saliva as I entered, and smeared it all over my chest and front legs. It was so humiliating. Mother wiped me off with more paper towels, and was staring at me in the oddest fashion. I then proceeded to move my mouth a few times, without producing anything, let out a sigh, and started seeking schnibbles of leftover grain by the doorway.
Mother was flummoxed. If I was choking, this wasn't exactly a normal presentation. My dinner was cooked, and is a soft soaked sort of thing. After a phone call and some consultation, she gave me my dinner... at least we could figure out if it was choke, she said. Um, I don't want to choke!
I consumed my dinner with relish, with normal swallowing the whole time. She fed me a smidge of hay, with no ill effects. She came back a few hours later, and I am still my wondrous, healthy self. My eye even feels and looks a little better. Mother was relieved, but still seemed a touch perturbed by the day's events.
The aunts will watch me tonight, according to Mother, and she promised to come see me early in the morning.
The moral of the story: Apparently, all you need to do to freak out a human is release creepy mucous from your mouth.
I have to admit, it freaks me out, too.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Alternate Universe
I had a lot of time while Mother was away to spend daydreaming and thinking on my life. Soak up sun, dream... think about things.
I would have done so many things. I am naturally balanced...
When Mother met me in North Dakota, she put her arm over my back and showed me thoughts of us galloping through green fields, jumping over things. I didn't know what they meant, but we looked happy in them; I knew Mother was the human I needed. She told a friend later that it was funny, when she did that with Devlin Pony, he felt happy, and eager to learn... when she did it with me, she felt from me confusion and a sort of emptiness, but peace. I had no other way to tell her about my bad joint, but she understands now I was trying to tell her I couldn't really do those things. But I was always happy to be with her, and I would try.
Mother says the best thing about me is I have always done everything she has asked of me. It's not my fault I can't really do anything with my bad leg. But I was willing to try...
Mother says there are many things I could have done. Now, she says I am only good as a model...
Hmmph.
Well, I think they should at least be interesting models... Like, if an artist wanted a good example of a war horse for a Civil War statue.
Mother thinks I would make a good broodmare model. I resent that.
I think I would be a great headless horseman model.
Oh, wait, the rider is supposed to be the headless one? Scratch that idea.
But in the course of my daydreams this week, I found myself thinking in the human way, WHAT IF...?!
I would have done so many things. I am naturally balanced...
I could have done dressage... you just try to move big and look pretty, right?
But I wouldn't want to always stay in an arena... there's so much to do outside!
Eventing!... can't you just see me galloping up to the fences?
Or endurance... you just try to cover ground at a pace you can maintain forever, right? I was bred for that!
Barrel racing... I'm not sure I see the point of running around in circles just to end up where you started, but I do like to fly...
I think I could do some cow work...
I even would be willing to give William Pendelton's family a nod, and try some three gaited. I've got the mane now, after all. Mother thinks I'm hopeless, but if I had really applied myself, maybe...
Ah, well... they are just day dreams, after all.
When Mother met me in North Dakota, she put her arm over my back and showed me thoughts of us galloping through green fields, jumping over things. I didn't know what they meant, but we looked happy in them; I knew Mother was the human I needed. She told a friend later that it was funny, when she did that with Devlin Pony, he felt happy, and eager to learn... when she did it with me, she felt from me confusion and a sort of emptiness, but peace. I had no other way to tell her about my bad joint, but she understands now I was trying to tell her I couldn't really do those things. But I was always happy to be with her, and I would try.
Mother says the best thing about me is I have always done everything she has asked of me. It's not my fault I can't really do anything with my bad leg. But I was willing to try...
She is the best cookie and care human I could wish for. She still sees ME.
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