I like living the natural life, and Mother lets me, up to a point. I am the first horse she's ever let have so much hair.
I like being au naturel... that's French, like my real name.
So I wasn't aware that anything unusual was going to happen this evening. I stood patiently while Mother curried and brushed me, although there was a terrible coughing spell by her at one point, and I admit, there seemed to be very low visibility in the barn. She had clipped my halter path and legs and yak jaw the other week, so I peered with little more than mild interest when the clippers were brought out. I hadn't paid any attention to the various comments she had made about my excessively hairy undercarriage, and the fact that she spent more time trying to untangle and de-mud that area.
I've known I apparently am hairier than most domestic horses. I'm from North Dakota! It's important to keep yourself warm. I forgot that Mother really likes to remove hair from my person. Enter clippers.
She told Aunt Mary that she really can't explain to non-horse people what she does on her Friday nights. She wasn't even sure horse people would understand if she said what she did with her Boyfriend. In short though, she gave me a Bolivian. Or a Peruvian. A Venezuelan? Something like that.
There are no pictures for this part of the story.
It was a little disconcerting. She clipped off all the long guard hairs from between my back legs and other portions of my undercarriage. Something about hair shouldn't be that long, and it was too easily matted with mud. I stood patiently while she stuck her head and clippers in all sorts of areas I don't think she's really examined that closely before. It was fine. Until I moved.
There were hairs that were tickling me. I spraddled in back, so Mother could get those tickly hairs off of me. Mother laughed that this would make a really great picture, as all of the South American was clearly visible, but fortunately Aunt Mary talked her out of it.
I have my dignity to maintain.
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