Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Well, way to go, Mother.
I'm sitting in the run-in this evening, eating my hay, minding my own business, and who should come clumping up in her muck boots, halter and rope in hand, but Mother.
Eating here, Mother.
Doesn't matter. She captures me, takes me out to the gate post and ties me, and proceeds to pick and powder my hooves.
She slaps some tummy goop from the syringe into my mouth (we got wormed on Sunday... Yes, it's so GOOD to see you all the time, Mother) and picked up the curry comb.
Really? Really?! There is hay in there! Being eaten by BELLE... and it's MINE!!
I shifted restlessly on the tie. Mother grumbled, untied me, and then tied it even shorter.
I shifted again, she grumbled loudly at me, and I settled in to accept my fate. Really, how am I expected to enjoy a grooming when MY HAY is being eaten. I'm going to get less now! I may have to just chase Belle out for the rest of the evening so I can get something to eat.
And to add insult to injury, instead of bringing me my cookies, Mother fussed over donkeys for ages in one of the stalls.
I know. I watched.
She did finally bring me my cookies ~ four Herballs.
I'm not sure I DO want Mother to visit all the time. Couldn't she come only when I'm not already busy eating?