No Good Deed

Mother decided that we would do stuff together this weekend. I really just want her to stop by every day, brush me, give me my dinner and my good night cookies. Is that so much to ask? She ends up loading all of our together time into two days, and some of it is a lot like work.

Saturday she took Belle and me down to the sheep pastures. She thought we would like to have a little more grass than what we have at home. And we did graze for about fifteen minutes, but then we decided a little canter was in order. After that, Belle started feeling homesick, and was calling up to the herd left behind. I started pacing the fence line, at trot and gallop, of course, trying to find the way out so my mare could be happy again. Occasionally, we did another fast lap or two or three of the field.

I have to admit, sometimes it was hard making all those fast moves; there is a bit of a slope. By the time I decided this was silly, I was huffing and puffing and sweating and even a little foamy in places... like my face. It is rough having a Nokota coat in Ohio when it's in the 70s. Mother sighed, questioned our intelligence, and took us home.

She put us in the multipurpose, as she was worried we would head straight to the water trough, and we started scrubbing around looking for grass. Mother looked a bit put out, and called us ungrateful in addition to the intelligence-questioning comments.

She did make my dinner, however, and I was dry by the time she came out with it. Poor Belle was still a little sweaty, although she hadn't gotten nearly as warm as I had down in the field. My coat, while thick and furry, dries super fast. Mother says the Nokotas who didn't develop these quick drying coats probably didn't do so well if they got hot in the winter in North Dakota.

Oh, oh, and the devil dogs next door brought the evil grazing muzzle out from under the porch, the one they took off with months ago, so now Mother has two of them to torture me with. I'm doomed... well, whenever the grass comes back, that is.