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!
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