Homecoming

I have been having trouble lately, but don't tell anyone, especially the wolves. The whole world has been kind of slanted, and sometimes I slant with it, and sometimes I have to scramble for it to straighten out. Mother has been giving me lots of cookies and extra attention, and has had the vet come out to see me several times, and given me shots. But nothing fixes this.

It is very depressing. I would look to Mother for help, and all she had to offer was cookies.

Then, Mother lead me out to the back field, and Aunt Nancy came along with us. It seemed a strange place for an exam, but sometimes in the past Mother had me trot in hand for the doctor... with so much grass out here, maybe she needed me to demonstrate my eating!

She gave me a shot, which I thought was like normal sedation (which, I must be honest, I really like), but I found myself feeling really woozy instead, like the times when I had surgery.

The next thing I knew, I was dreaming. I don't remember dreaming with my other surgeries, but it must have been a dream because I was drifting above Mother and Aunt Nancy and a very handsome grey horse which I realized looked an awful lot like me. Mother was leaning over the grey horse and I saw she was crying as she ran her hands over his body, and gentle touches around his face.

When I woke up I found myself in a large and beautiful field that stretched as far as I could see, filled with many horses. There was a lovely flowing stream so clear you could see the pebbled bottom. I looked at all the horses around me in the field; some were frolicking, some grazing, some rolling in the grass, while a few dozed quietly in the shade of a large oak tree. To my surprise, I knew many of these horses, and I saw my own father, and other horses I had known but hadn't seen in a very long time, and some I don't remember having met but who I seemed to simply know, if you know what I mean.

Every horse was at their most beautiful. Perfectly muscled, perfect feet, nobody seemed lame or even old. I noticed that my leg, which had been bothering me so, was as perfect as if I was a young horse. I couldn't help but run, leap, and buck, reveling in my strength again! Whatever Aunt Nancy had done to fix my bad joint, she had done a great job. And nothing about the world was crooked. Everything was straight. I took off galloping and galloping and galloping.

I saw that Spirit Horse was galloping along with me, and I stopped glorying in my ability to just run and run, and started looking around... and I remembered then: MOTHER. Spirit Horse, after all, was who had told me to choose Mother... where was she?

I slowed and started looking around me. Really looking. I noticed something odd about some of my companions in the field. While all were in their prime, fit and strong and seemingly perfect, I saw some were not quite perfect. They were missing chunks of their manes. I asked Spirit Horse why.

He merely turned his great head and gazed at a pretty mare across the meadow who was one of the ones missing mane. I saw a human approach her, the mare nickering delightedly, and the human hugged her around her neck. As the human held up her hand, the mane hair clutched in it touched the horse, and the mare was once again perfect. The human swung up onto the mare's back, and they cantered over the rise and out of sight.

I asked Spirit Horse where my human was. Would Mother come for me like that? He nudged my neck, and I realized I, too was missing some mane hair. Not like when Mother chopped all of it off over a few burrs, but a small swath like the mare whose human came for her. I was filled with happiness, because that means Mother will come for me.

So, it has been some time since I have been in this field, and it is wonderful. There aren't any flies or prickly bushes or burrs or rocks that hurt hooves, just grass and fresh water and ancient shade trees and horses. I spend my days grazing and grooming with friends, galloping and loafing by turns. Everyday is a perfect sunny day, although when I think it has been perhaps too sunny, a cloud will blow across the sun, and even a gentle rain shower may pass when I would just have hoped for one. Everything is so nice, I almost don't remember any other life.

From time to time a human comes, but so far it has not been Mother. There are times though, when my mane is blowing in the breeze and I see the piece missing, and I think of Mother. I know I will see her again, since Spirit Horse promised me. So I am filled with happiness.

And after these times, when I have thought of Mother and go back to my grazing, I always find some Mrs. Pastures cookies, nestled in the grass.

Cookies... Yumm!!!

That was Creepy

So I was in the run-in tonight, minding my own business and waiting for Aunt Marilyn to come up with hay, when I hear a voice calling my name. I peer out into the darkness... it sounds like Mother, but I don't... see...

The voice is coming from the fence line of the neighbors. Hmmm, Mother sometimes comes up that way. I see a blob of light colored motion. What the heck is that??

I walked out of the run in, and the blob made a funny sighing noise and slipped through the fence and started coming closer. I stood scenting, staring, trying to decide what this was. It sort of sounded like Mother, but also made some whining noises and odd crinkling sounds. And it bobbed in a strange fashion. It came very close.

I smelled Herballs.

It was a Mother-apparition; I mean it sounded like Mother, but she was so light, and I've never heard her crinkle like that. It extended an arm towards me, Herball in hand.

I snorted and backed away.

"It's only me, Boyfriend. I know I look different, you just haven't seen this coat before. It's what is crinkling."

It took another step, arm still stretched out. Uh, I can eat the Herball if I s-t-r-e-t-c-h. Crunch crunch. It walked closer and fed me a few more, but the crinkling continued and I wouldn't let it touch me.

Belle walked up, and the Mother-apparition fed her one of MY Herballs and scratched her under the jaw. Maybe it is actually Mother? Belle doesn't seem alarmed by the crinkling. Of course, she wasn't worried about the rattlesnake, either.

I let the Mother-apparition touch me, a bit, but the crinkling really was too much. I followed alongside as it walked across the Small. I realized the odd bobbing I saw and strange whining was actually Mother trying not to get her shoes muddy.

I guess it was really her all along. While it was nice of her to bring me cookies, it would be nicer if she was less creepy when she did it.

Optical Illusion

Mother gave me another stab, then a good brushing, then weight taped me.

Whenever she does the weight tape, she advocates for me to suck in my ribs so I will appear thinner. She'll pull the little strip of cloth/tape tighter and tighter, and I try to squish my ribs, but eventually I have to breath.

If I did a really good job, she gives me a cookie...

Anyway, today Mother found that upon first putting the tape on, I was easily under 950lbs. When she told me to "suck it in", it made it to 905lbs.

Mother stepped back, stared at me. Poked my ribs. Aunt Marilyn asked if we needed to change my food. Mother decided that perhaps when the current orange food runs out, she'll switch me back to the old horse mush. She wants me below 1,000 weight tape pounds and above "too skinny". I am not too skinny, especially as I have a leg that doesn't need to work harder than necessary, but Mother wants to make sure I stay "not too skinny."

She said I didn't really look any thinner, but that's why she likes to tape me. She says looks can be deceiving, and tangible evidence is better, whatever that means. She claims there is a delicate balance between healthy thin and too thin.

How's this for balanced, Mother?

I can't help but think I look a little top heavy...

Here are pictures she took while I dined on the lawn. It was warm out, so my coat is laying pretty flat, even though it is winter full.

So, is the weight tape stretching? Did I loose all the muscles on my back? Have I perfected imploding my ribcage?

Why don't you just give me my cookies and stop measuring me, Mother?

I'm afraid if I tell her I'm too thin she'll just get all worried that I am loosing weight because my leg hurts and that the wolves will notice my condition and single me out and... never mind.

Of course, I don't want to miss out on a cookie increase or more mush grain if the opportunity arises!

What to do?

Quoth the Cookie

Once upon an aft'r'noon dreary, while I pondered, snoozing, bleary,
Over the many cookies and treats forgotten by Mother's aging mind
While I nodded (almost napping), all at once there came a rapping
As of some dog's tail gently fwapping at my run-in's side
"'Tis just some canine," I muttered, "fwapping at my run-in's side-
No great cause to run or hide."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was quite windy that December,
And each separate wisp of hay would blow; so hard for me to find.
Eagerly I wished the morrow - for rain free days (with sun to follow),
For days with Mother giving cookies and treating me so kind
Warm blissful hours filled with cookies (and treats) of every kind
Mrs. Pastures will do just fine.

Then the wind was surely bustling , and the shade cloth then was rustling,
Chilled me- filled me with a coldness I just couldn't quite define
So to quiet my rumbling tummy (and my shattered nerves need numbing)
I called for Mother to come (and bring the cookies!) in good time,
I just desire cookies now, at any - well, really, ALL times!
Mrs. Pastures will do just fine.

Then the noise I was hearing, (that fwapping sound most wearing)
Stopped abruptly as my neigh's dying echo in the air with it combined.
Quite suddenly, I was full awake. "Perchance Mother has brought for me cheesecake!"
And I braved the wind and staggered out, to find myself most blind
The blistering wind and rain -in my delicate eyes its path did find
Winter pasture is not kind.

The fwapping sound has ended. Oh, there's Mother with cookies: Splendid.
Yet couldn't she have brought them out to me while I was still dry inside?
She kissed my schnozzle sweetly, I picked the treats up neatly
And crunched with eager chomping at the goodness hid inside
Just munching happy cookies as the rain did pelt my hide
"Mother dear, you read my mind."

No rest for the wicked, or me

Mother came up to see me tonight, rather late in the evening for her at this time of year. I had actually already given up on the thought of seeing her today.

She took me out on to the barn porch, which unfortunately still let the fine mist that was coming down to blow on my face.

 Unnnhhh... I'll just stand farther back here. 

Oh, wait, I can lick the rain...

OK, this kind of isn't fun at all. Why are you taking my picture when it's all dark and gross out? And I am wearing the washed out pinkish looking halter, and you have it adjusted all slovenly, Mother. 

Can't I just go eat dinner?

Unless... wait, are there cookies involved?

I just want one. Better yet,  two. Cookies aren't too much to ask, are they?

Then Mother decides that my prominent brow ridge is interesting. Oh, by the way, look at how well my mane recovered from last year's bush-hogging. Some might never guess...

She started talking about my bony protuberance and how people who say that that cartoon horse shouldn't have eyebrows need to look at my head.

 I have no idea what she is talking about.

Seriously, Mother, can we just GET ON with whatever you are planning to do?

Oh, no, there's more fiddling with the camera, and settings.

OK, that flash is just a little too bright. I am now blind in my right eye.

Come on, this is boring!

She did give me a few Herballs after she picked my hooves and curried me everywhere. Then Mother gave me a nice (but all too brief) massage. She made my dinner, which was particularly perfect... It almost smells like apple pie with cinnamon while it is soaking. Yummm!

 And I got one Mrs. Pastures cookie and about 5 or 6 Herballs as I went out for my hay, so life is pretty good... even if I did have to endure some bizarre mid-night photo fest.

Mixed Blessings

You may have noticed that some of my recent posts have not been current events in my life. That is because, well, Mother is a worrywart. She has been having trouble determining if I am not doing as well, comfort-wise, as she wants. Then last week as we walked my postal route, she noted that I was walking a bit shorter on one of my hind legs. The non-surgered leg, to be precise.

I admit I have been reluctant about certain activities, like walking the hills of the postal route. I apparently seem "grumpier than usual" at times to Mother. That is a lack of Mrs. Pastures cookies, Mother. All those other cookies (while tasty and delectable and I appreciated them) for months and months has caused a "Mrs. Pastures cookies' deficiency". Grumpiness is a manifestation.

MPCD is not a condition to take lightly.

In trying to determine a cause, Mother has fine toothed all the aspects of my care. She had changed my joint and comfort supplements from SmartPak to something else from SmartPak that was supposed to replace the Repair and TLC, and even added some other other joint things. She is going to switch back to exactly what I was on earlier this year. She isn't sure if it is the change of supplements (as I've been switched for about two and a half months), but she would be very happy if this proves to be the reason.

Not content to concentrate on one reason at a time, she worries that it is perhaps an indication that my degenerative cartilage is in fact bilateral as many of those things can be, and the right side just wasn't as bad as the left (so not visible on xray) at the time of surgery. I did have arthritic changes in my left hock when xrays were taken in 2009. When I had my left stifle surgery, the hospital shot fresh films of both stifles, showing nothing on the right stifle at that time. They didn't take hock pictures, so it's possible I have arthritis on the right as well as the left, or crummy cartilage in the right stifle, or whatever else her diseased brain can come up with to worry about.

In her concern for me, a few weeks ago Mother had given up the grand experiment and had the farrier out to do my hoovies. He reassured her that she had done me no harm, and he had seen worse work by professionals. My balances weren't exactly how he had kept them, but the adjustments he made were not much and I felt fine afterwards. No improvement in my "grumpy" attitude, so that is one possible reason that she has dismissed.

The results of her neurosis as I see them:
I still putter about the pasture.
I still putter about (supervised) on the lawn.

Proposed changes:
Will continue having the farrier man do my hooves now.
Will go back to my previous supplements and see if it helps.
Mother will not ride me for my once or twice monthly 5 minute jaunts anymore.
No more postal route, due to the hills.
Possibly add Adequan in addition to the supplement routine.

Gosh, walk three or four inches shorter on one side and you'd think the world is ending! Cookies will fix it, they fix everything.

Which reminds me of the most important change: Mother has bought me a nice big bag of Mrs.Pastures again, just today! Since I've been staying svelte and I eat my IR powder and I have shown no signs of trouble since "the incident", she says I can have ONE Mrs. Pastures from time to time now.

RAPTURE!

Cookies!.. er, um, cookie... YUMMM!!!!

Love or Money?

Mother gives me lots of cookies.

Is this really a sign of her love, or is she trying to buy my compliance, my goodwill?

Is this appeasement?

Can I really be bought so easily?

Yes, yes I can.

A literary sort of day

Mother wanted me to put up one of her favorite poems on here. She gave me some cookies, so I said OK.

It is a circle of life sort of poem, if there are any sensitive sorts out there.

Names of Horses

DONALD HALL

All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding 
and steerhide over the ash hames, to haul 
sledges of cordwood for drying through spring and summer, 
for the Glenwood stove next winter, and for the simmering range.

In April you pulled cartloads of manure to spread on the fields, 
dark manure of Holsteins, and knobs of your own clustered with oats.
All summer you mowed the grass in meadow and hayfield, the mowing machine 
clacketing beside you, while the sun walked high in the morning;

and after noon's heat, you pulled a clawed rake through the same acres, 
gathering stacks, and dragged the wagon from stack to stack, 
and the built hayrack back, uphill to the chaffy barn, 
three loads of hay a day from standing grass in the morning. 

Sundays you trotted the two miles to church with the light load 
a leather quartertop buggy, and grazed in the sound of hymns. 
Generation on generation, your neck rubbed the window sill 
of the stall, smoothing the wood as the sea smooths glass.

When you were old and lame, when your shoulders hurt bending to graze,
one October the man, who fed you and kept you, and harnessed you every morning,
led you through corn stubble to sandy ground above Eagle Pond,
and dug a hole beside you where you stood shuddering in your skin,

and lay the shotgun's muzzle in the boneless hollow behind your ear,
and fired the slug into your brain, and felled you into your grave, 
shoveling sand to cover you, setting goldenrod upright above you,
where by next summer a dent in the ground made your monument.

For a hundred and fifty years, in the pasture of dead horses,
roots of pine trees pushed through the pale curves of your ribs,
yellow blossoms flourished above you in autumn, and in winter
frost heaved your bones in the ground - old toilers, soil makers:

O Roger, Mackerel, Riley, Ned, Nellie, Chester, Lady Ghost.

Bif back in:  I have my own opinion of this poem. I was raised on a large ranch with hundreds of other horses. I have seen horses shot, and I have seen the vet make them sleep. I have seen them sicken and then die, with no one to care for them. I think these horses worked hard and the humans worked hard, and both cared for the other, and it is all we could ask.

I don't have to work at all, but I am special. 

Or Mother's special. I hear they have a special automobile for that. Maybe she'll get one. Then she can fill it with cookies!!

The Latest Cheesy Excuse

So Mother, in her joy over completing her Calculus exam this evening, celebrated. NOT by coming up to see me, but by spending four hours making a cheesecake.

I don't even eat cheesecake.

Apparently, her work has a tradition where you bring in something for everyone when it is your birthday. Birthday? Mother is giving birth? That would explain why she's been so preoccupied by things other than me. But I haven't noticed that she looks gravid... also, I don't think humans really time those things. She has apparently precisely timed the cheesecake, as she says it needs to age a day, so Tuesday evening was the time to make it.

So once again, I am alone. Motherless. I'm not completely alone... there's Jeanie and Belle and the orangey-red one and Bert and my fat donkey. But for all intents and (COOKIE) purposes... alone.

Maybe she'll come visit me on her birthday! And maybe, she'll save me just a little piece of cheesecake...


*Pictured cheesecake is not the actual cheesecake. The actual cheesecake is still in the oven.

Succulent Selections

My good buddy Fenway asked about the treats (besides the infinitely wondrous, superb, perfect Mrs. Pastures cookies) Mother feeds me. His human is also apparently overly concerned by outward appearances. I mean, he mentions celery, as if that is an equine foodstuff.

Hmmmrph.

I will say, though, I do like the treats Mother gives me, even if some were chosen because she mis-perceives my inherited metabolic adaptations to survival despite adversity and paucity of forage. There are the Hilton Herballs*, which are the first treats I ever met and the only ones I would eat for  a long time. She has some of these for me right now, although I know she gave some to interloping horses owned by people who have never even bothered to come visit me! Giving away my treats!

Another one, and one touted as being for IR horses, is Withers and Withers IR* Cookies. Grey turned me onto these... they are very yummy and Mother crushes them up in her fingers to add to my dinner to make my supplements taste better, as well as feeding them to me for kisses. Their melt in my mouth consistency, however, means Mother shares these with Jeanie, who while very attractive in her older years, has less teeth at 32 than she used to.  These are the only treats she can eat (they do melt/powder/crumble better when the package has been open awhile). Mother gives some of these to Belle and Callie, too, because they are both already very well rounded. Giving away my treats!

Something in common with these treats is their tiny size. Sigh. Human vanity is such a burden.

Speaking of human vanity.... Mother has had pointed out to her that she is woefully absent in pictures on my blog... perhaps a hand here, a leg there. She claims she prefers anonymity, but I have decided to out her. Because she was off with her human family and not me during the holidays, and that's not fair. Fenway says it is OK for the occasional straying from the strict and narrow equine viewpoint in a blog, so I place Mother in my limelight.  I frankly have never seen her as clean as this before, but her hygiene is a topic for another time, I suppose.

 Mother is the brown one in the middle. 

The black one has visited me, with various human larvae. 

The palomino... I'm not sure I know her.

See, Mother? Leave me alone all the time, and there is no telling what all I might dig up on you and present to the world. So you better start visiting me EVERY DAY again... please?





* Items viewable on SmartPak because that was the easiest place to go. Always read nutrition information and consider what is best for the equine/canine/bovine/feline/ovine/porcine involved. Not to substitute for the advice of your veterinarian or other rational human beings... I'm just a horse, after all.

Bah, Haybug!

Mother is crazy.

She should have been feeding me a special holiday dinner, like last year. But after a hasty dinner of normal rations, she put me in the cross ties and brought the contraption around from the barn porch. She reminded me that the holiday is not just about cookies and how much grain I get... perhaps not, but I don't think it's supposed to be about work, either! She picked my feet, brushed me off, and put my pad and surcingle on. The whole time she was making our dinners and getting my various accouterments ready, she was singing about a "one horse open sleigh" and some sort of bells.

I have to admit, this was making me a little nervous. Sleigh? I'm "one horse"... what's a sleigh? Mother just hooked up my normal pole contraption, though, and we journeyed out of the warmth and light of the barn and into the snowy dark pasture.

I've never before gone for a night drive in the snow, but it wasn't too bad because all the snow made it pretty bright out. I have no idea what got into her. I should have been eating my hay, like all the others were, not out dragging the contraption to nowhere.

Mother did give me a lot of cookies before we drove and after, and there were cookies in my dinner, and of course my goodbye kiss cookies (Hilton Herballs... yumm!!).

And finally, I was put back out to eat hay with my mare, Belle. But then Mother came out with the flashy picture taker... if you're coming out and disturbing my already late dinner, you better have cookies, lady!

We have a perfectly good run-in shed... we could have had our hay in there, instead of dining al fresco.

You know, though, I have a full belly and more hay for later and friends and a warm place to get out of wind and weather and good healthcare and Mother came to visit, even if it was a little strange to work in the dark, and I really should just stop complaining, I guess.

Merry Christmas!

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Mother told me I was to write you a list of what I wanted for Christmas.

1. More cookies. Since Mother isn't at the barn every day like she should be, it would probably be best to just put an automatic cookie dispenser in my pasture. I'd like one for my Mrs. Pastures, and one for the Withers & Withers cookies, and one for Hilton Herballs.

2. Potato chips. Mother gave me some one day, and they were perfectly salty and delicious. She says I really shouldn't eat them, but what she doesn't know won't hurt me. More, please.

3. Free choice hay 24/7... and not the boredom hay, but the good stuff!

4. A new halter that is black and fits my winter head. I would also like you to take the "raspberry purple" halter with you when you go.

5. Grass... I know this is difficult in winter, but if you can deliver presents to hundreds of thousands of horses in one night, you can probably handle a little grass out of season for one little Nokota.

6. Perhaps a little visit from the vet and some sedation. The vet was here the other day, but no sedation, sadly.

Most important of all, Santa... I would like Mother to start coming to the barn every day again. I know you are really just into material goods, but I would forgo all those other things (well, except the cookies, obviously) if Mother would just come back and spend time with me like she used to.

Thanks!

Boyfriend

The Cookie Crumbles

It has been a very dull week. Last weekend the farrier came out, and that was nice because he always gives me a cookie when he's done. I feel kind of bad because he had to work harder than usual... my hooves and frogs are hard as concrete, just like the ground.

Sunday, Mother lunged me for a little while, and she hopped aboard me bareback for a minute or two. It was like old times. Then... "the work week". I didn't see Mother for an eternity. My dinners didn't have crumbled up Withers and Withers cookies in them. There were no goodnight kisses or goodbye cookies.


Mother was up today. I perked up... cookies, lady! But she went and got my favorite mare, Jeanie, and put her in crossties and started brushing her. I stared through the window, agog. I wait all week for her, and she is grooming someone else! And she measured Jeanie with the measuring tape... why?

When I realized Mother wasn't going to give me a cookie, and was grooming another when she clearly should be spending time with me... well, I left the window, and walked to the far wall of the run in. I couldn't help but watch, though. Whenever she turned to look my way, I quickly moved my head and shifted my gaze, but before long I had to come back and stare through the window again.

I saw her... she kissed her on the nose and gave her cookies. UNFAIR!

Then, she came out and stretched the measuring tape on Bert, and pet me and said she'd be back up after she visited Mr. Smothers. Oh, come on!! He's just a cat! What about me?! What about my needs?

When she did come up, she was talking talking talking in the little black flippy phone. She talked while she brushed me, with lots of static-y electric-y shocks, I might add. Thanks. She talked while she picked my feet. She hung up... then started talking again, and was even talking while she lunged me. Hello? Why did you even come up here?

Finally, she put the phone on a fence post and actually focused on me when I went the second direction. I tried really hard to look awesome, so she would realize I was the most important thing, and she should pay attention to me.

She made my dinner just the perfect temperature and sloppiness, and there were some Withers and Withers cookies crumbled in it, and Mrs. Pastures cookies on top, too. It was perfect and delicious. And I got goodbye kisses and cookies. So I guess it was a good day after all.

Cookies... yum!

Type C Personality

There are several personality types out there, you know... Type A, always animated, agitated and anxious. Then there is Type B... broadly speaking, the basic barely breathing bore. Then there is Type C. Mother is a Type C.

Now, that is partly because Mother caters to me. She cleans my stall, she cleans my water buckets and feed tub, she cleans my coat, and even my hooves. She cooks me dinner, provides me with cookies... as you can tell, that is a lot of Cs.

However, the C also stands for controlling, and Mother does that a lot, especially lately. She counts calories for me (not necessary, truly), has cut back my good hay, although increasing my crummy hay... life is all about trade offs once one accepts domestication, I have discovered.

She controls not only my food, and my turnout times, but also what could/should be leisure time with her... she likes to tell me where to go, how quickly to go there, and sometimes it is just around in circles around her! Today, we were ground driving in the back pasture, and we kept disturbing the deer grazing there. I admit, even without the deer, I was feeling a little frisky. I kept trying to encourage her to let me trot, but NO. So at one point, even though I'd seen the deer plenty of times already, I decided to make the drive more interesting because it had crept decidedly into B mode... I did a tiny dance, and a little levitation of the front end. Mother made no comment, just requested me to walk on.

Later she mentioned it was a pretty little rear, not as balanced as a levade, but not bad. Since I didn't hit the lines going up, and I was so light, and I was already in an obvious mood, she ignored my high spirits.

There are advantages to being a horse that nothing is expected of; there are no goals to strive for. If I chose to rear in the lines, really, what's the harm? I'm not pulling on her, I'm not endangering her. Well, that's my view, anyway.

I am awakening her to a whole new way of enjoying horsedom. Now, if we could just continue the trend of relinquishing the control side of the C, and get her to concentrate more on the catering side of C... like COOKIES!!!!

Good News, Bad News

Good News! Mother has found cookies I can eat. They are the IR cookies from Withers and Withers, and I am so happy. It's almost like my life is normal again...

Bad News: Mother insists on putting the grazing muzzle on me at night. Aparently, the one I dislodged and hid so stealthily is not the only one in existence, because Mother brought another one to the barn and I am stuck wearing it at night when I go out. I kind of want to cry.

Good News... well, at least I go out every night, even if I do have to wear the horrible thing. And Aunt Marilyn takes it off for a few minutes up to an hour in the morning before I come in for my hay breakfast and nap.

Bad News... or is it good? I am starting to get a few rubs. Nothing major, but I am hoping Mother will decide I shouldn't wear it... that would be GREAT NEWS!!!!



At least there are cookies again. I was starting to wonder for a while what Mother was even good for, since I received no cookies, but had to wear the dreadful muzzle. I'd be better off on my own!

Oh, and I would really like to find the human that invented this contraption... really.

Exercises in futility

Mother and friends spent a lot of time wandering around in the field, looking for my evil grazing muzzle. I either dug a hole and buried it, or talked the neighbor's dogs into taking it home with them... I can't remember which. I am certainly not going to let Mother know!

Mother is not pleased with me. She is downright irritable, in fact. She was irritated about my successful banishment of the hated muzzle, and her inability to see where I stashed it. She was angry because I wouldn't pose nicely for the camera when she actually had someone to help her, so she could get pictures of me "doing something besides standing there stuffing his face with grass, or standing there in the crossties"... so I just stand around in the field attached to a human?!?

That makes no sense, and I am quite sensible.

How could she be angry with me? I am perfection at all times. D'uh.

She has also been unhappy with me due to the copious quantities of burrs I've been filling my mane, forelock and tail with. She is talking about just roaching my mane, and being done with it. Does this look to you like something that needs removal?

Please, tell her I need it. (I don't really, but it is part of my gloriousness and I like it.)

She says without it, I would just look like this, on both sides... um, I still want to keep it. Please, Mother?

She did kiss me quite a few times on my nose today, but still NO COOKIES. 

I present my schnozzle for kisses, and should receive a cookie in return, but no cookies! I don't understand. What has happened to my world?

Tech Support

Mother and I are at an impasse. It's about sharing.

I keep trying to enable cookies on the computer, but even though I keep clicking the little button, no cookies come out.

And Mother gets upset that I keep messing with the settings.


So where are my cookies?!? I just wanted cookies...

Le Dauphin

Mother may have discovered my true name!

Mother often laments that my name is Boyfriend, because apparently other humans think it is kind of a funny name for a horse. She spent the first few months that she owned me trying other words, but none of them was my name, if you know what I mean.  I tolerate Bif because that is what so many people call me. Uncle Jeff called me Nokota and I answered to that, because it was technically correct.

So, last night Mother was running her hand over me and she kept brushing off lots of little grit. It made her think of dolphins, who continually shed their skins to be fast fast fast, and she remembered there is a royal title named the Dauphin. It happens to be French, like my real name. So she tried calling me Dauphin, and I knew she was talking about me! It's about time she realizes my true status.

Of course, she'll probably just keep calling me Boyfriend, because she sounds a little strange and pretentious, and her lips look funny when she tries to pronounce Dauphin.

As long as she brings me cookies, either name is acceptable. And yes, that is pronounced "EYE-ther". I'm royalty, after all.

Second Thoughts

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!

I drive really slow on the driveway

So, there I was, out in the field with my friends, newish grass coming up, minding my own.

Stuffing my face as best I could, if truth be told. Oh, and see, I am not too fat. Please tell Mother I look fine, perhaps even thin.

From time to time, Mother feels I should do some work, earn my keep, that sort of thing. Hello! The grass just got here. But, I am a good horse, so I went along with Operation Ground Driving Photo Op.

Actually, she worked first with the Big Ruby. 

I don't see what the Big Deal is. I am way more important than her, but Mother rides her, not me. Sigh. 

Anyway, Mother trussed me up, and away we went. I think she was just excited that she had talked someone into taking pictures. Never mind that daylight was waning and most of the pictures look like we're driving in the dark. She does that to me all the time, so it's not really falsification or anything.

Plod plod plod. All we do is walk. 

  

And halt.

And walk around with purposelessness.

Don't think I don't recognize purposelessness when I see it!

So we wandered around, down the drive, through some mud, and in the lower parking lot...  fortunately, I have my night vision eyeballs in.

More purposelessness? Aw, come on! it's dark, and I want my dinner!

This is so boring, and I can almost taste the Mrs. Pastures cookies waiting for me... 

The cookies are in the barn!! The barn, way up the drive. See, the lights are on, inviting us in... think cookies, Mother. I've been good... think cookies!!

Aren't you ready yet??!?

Just when I think we're done... not. She likes to take pictures of me. She says I look like Andy Lucy  somebody...

 I think I look like Boyfriend!

And this has taken forever. I want FOOD!!

food? pretty please?