On Friday she stopped by very briefly (she is ghost-sitting AGAIN!). She really only came up to say a quick hello and give me a treat. Unfortunately, she didn't bother to turn on any lights. I received my cookie with my typical dignity. She scratched my neck and face... and then a finger poked me in the eye. Um, oww. She apologized, but really, such accidents could be avoided by just giving me cookies and leaving; petting areas South of my head; or turning on lights, since you humans have conquered electricity.
Yesterday, Mother seemed happy to see me. She led me to the barn porch, and gave me my shot. I didn't really even feel it, but she assures me I received it. Mother is a presser, not a thumper.
She proceeded to pick out my hoovies, put some purple stuff on parts of my frogs, curry me... all is going well. Then she looks at my freshly rubbed and scruffed tailhead. She hooked up the hose.
Mother, it is December!
"It's 60 degrees, Bif. And I'm just doing your tail."
She didn't say that she planned to do a super thorough job since it might be the last chance for a good long while. She hosed it, she purple shampooed it, she hosed it, she purple shampooed it, she hosed it, she purple shampooed it. She shoved some suds on my back legs, the not as black parts. HEY! Anything you shampoo gets rinsed, and I don't want more water!
"You're fine, Bif."
She hosed all those parts off. She got out the medicated shampoo and did my tail really well all up at the top, underside too. UUUNNNN... that water is cold! I got rinsed very well.
She put the purple shampoo on my tail one last time. I stand, dejected. Rinse. Rinse Rinse Rinse.
She put the purple conditioner on. Rinse, rinse.
OOhhh, a really good muffiny cookie. Thank you, Mother!!
Detangler. She does my mane and forelock, too. Cookie, please? I was good.
Woo, hoo! Cookie!
Then I got to do a lawn job while she prepared my dinner.
I hope the next time I'm due a stabbing she just pokes me and leaves. I do not need to go through any of that other stuff again any time soon. Well, excepting the cookie parts, obviously.
I sense that "cookie" was your favourite part BIF. Is that right ? Secretly, I think mother has a bit of farming in her blood.... :)ReplyDelete
Well, the world needs cookie farmers.ReplyDelete
She says that she did sort of spend time on a farm when she was little. Her father owned one with his brothers, but none of them actually lived on the property. Her grand-mare did, though. So Mother's bottle fed calves and picked apples and berries and cherries and squirmed at wormy corn and watered animals in the broiling heat and blahblahblah.
I wonder if she has enough land to make a go of being a cookie farmer... hmmm...