Boring AND Creepy

It has been warm here. VERY warm. And though I did not grow as thick of a coat here in Ohio as I did in North Dakota, it was still quite substantial.

And unfortunately, it is STILL quite substantial.

Mother has been hosing me off every time she's been up here, which helps a bit but that water is so cold. My body is never going to lose its coat if it thinks we are having cold and rainy showers every afternoon.

Today, Mother was very, very odd. She was tugging around the creepy garish hay transporter. She was picking up sticks to feed it (although it just let them lay on its back) and pulling it around the garden paddock while I was trying to eat with my Red Mare herd. That thing straight up gives me the heebie jeebies and I wish Mother would not bring it by. She ignored me however, and went about gathering sticks.

Why? It's not eating them. I would eat cookies if you gave them to me...

After a while, she hazed us out of the grassy garden paddock, and soon took me out to the barn porch. I assumed I was going to get hosed again because I had lots of crunchy stiff hair spikes from sweating today, but she just curried and brushed me really well. She started digging around in her black trunk... and emerged with the surcingle. Uh, oh. Work time.

Uh, Mother, did you not notice I am wearing a coat designed to keep me warm  in a North Dakota winter?

Blizzard from 1966. My great great grandparents were living in the ND Badlands for that.

Anyway, Mother put my lunge line on me, and off we went to the Multipurpose. I eagerly trotted out before waiting for instructions. Mother commented on how forward I was; I must be feeling good and like my supplements. Since she seemed so admiring, I did a bit of my elevated and flashy front feet trot. She ooohhed and aaahhed appropriately.

I decided a spot of canter would go nicely, and stretched into that a bit. Mother encouraged me to trot and halt, and I realized that that was really a better idea.

I went the other way, with a bit of flashy trot just to show Mother that I am awesome and there is no need for a riding horse when she has me to look at. She only let me go a few laps, then we stopped and she adjusted my driving lines.

We drove around the back pasture and I really was very attentive and obedient, so I didn't have to work very long. Or so I thought...

Mother undid my driving lines, but used one of the lunge lines to lead me out into the small pasture with the horrible hay transporter. She walked around (while it creeped and slithered along behind her) and picked up sticks, and I was obliged to come along. After a while I realized that the thing really does just follow her on its rope, and when she drops the rope he stays obediently in place.

He got all the sticks along the fence by the big back pasture. He got all the sticks by the trees in the corner. He got all the sticks along the bottom of the Small. They pile high upon his back.

And still she picked up sticks.

I started wondering what she was doing. Because I have to say, it was really boring (except when we started walking again and the stick filled thing started grinding the ground and making creepy noises). She wandered with no discernible pattern. Was this how she felt when I hand grazed? 

So, that was just creepy. Boring AND creepy.

I wonder what she's going to do with all those sticks, since he's obviously not going to eat them?



And I got hosed at the end, anyway.

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 Well of Lonliness

Something... unpleasant... happened last weekend. It's only now, since I've had a week to process the incident, that I can talk about it.

Halter loosened for head brushing. I am not normally this slovenly.

Mother decided to take me for a little drive. I was behaving well. But when we got to the down slope by the sheep pasture, I decided enough was enough. I wanted to turn back, walking on the grass. Mother disagreed, I started to run away. Mother was forced to drop my lines or be drug along behind. I galloped away, across the bridge and back up the hill. When Mother found me, I was eating grass while the red mare herd in the small stared at me.

Mother gathered up my lines, and guided me back down the driveway hill. She drove me with shorter lines than before. I was behaving well. But when we got to the down slope by the sheep pasture, I decided enough was enough. I wanted to be on the grass. Mother disagreed, I started to run away. Mother attempted to snug me up, at one point she had the one line with all her weight trying to haul me around, but I ran. Mother was forced to drop my lines or be drug behind me. I galloped away, across the bridge and back up the hill. I heard Mother exclaiming behind me. There were not nice words being hurled in my direction. Granted, I'd never made her drop her lines before, but some of those things she said really hurt, you know?

Mother found me on the lawn, by the extinct dog run. She came to gather up my lines, but I attempted evasion. Not so easy when one has two 20 plus foot lines hanging off them. Mother muttered something about no more driving in just a halter and did I really want a bit? Oh, she could find a bit. Mutter, mutter, mutter...

Mother led me to the multipurpose.There were odd low mutterings coming from her. She lunged me in the multipurpose for a while. She made me work on HO-up. She muttered. I behaved. She muttered even more.

She took off my driving equipment, and led me along the postal route. She muttered. Last time we had retrieved the mail, Mother was very pleased at how well I handled the traffic along the fast rode. This time, she didn't stop at the mailbox. We kept on walking, along the fast road.

It was Friday evening. Many, many cars went by. Mother walked between me and the road, and other than an occasional "good boy" was eerily silent.When we switched to the other side of the road due to space limitations, I asked her to walk again between me and the road. This was my first oh-so-close-to-fast-moving-cars experience. So, really, I was a good boy.

I admit, the two motorcycles that roared past gave me a bit of a start. Not their appearance, as I'd seen motorcycles before, and their approach did not scare me, but just as they passed and continued on they made a dreadful growling roar. I skittered to the side for fear they would attack. Mother plodded on.

We walked to a funny parking lot where humans were getting out of their cars and Mother let some of the curious humans pet me. There were quite a few young humans, and they all thought I was pretty handsome. Is this why Mother led me along the fast road? No, we're moving on, and not back the way we came.

We walked along a quiet road with houses built back on long driveways. One or two cars passed and then nothing. Cows dotted a nearby hill, then passed out of sight as we continued.

After a while, I realized it was quiet... too quiet. Were it not for the sound of chirping birds, there was no sign of life... no humans about, no cars, no dogs, only the clip clop of my hooves on the road.

We had walked miles from home. I had no idea where we were, or where we were going.
I was with Mother, who did not seem at all like Mother.
I tried to call Aunt Nancy, but no answer.
Mother had me halt. I called out for any horse in the area. The only response was the chirping of birds.

I plodded onward. I had given up hope of ever seeing my red mare herd again. Mother showed no sign of turning back. What was wrong with her? With us? Where was she taking me?

We trudged up a long, steep hill. I was heartbroken... so far away from my herd, and getting farther away with every step. Plod, plod. As we crested the hill, Mother kept looking at me oddly, but I was too bereft to care. She turned off the road and we walked up a steep lawn next to some wood board fence. Mother continued to stare at me. WHAT?!?

Then I heard one of my red mares call to me. Close. I looked up, neighing loudly... She was less than 80 feet away. I was home again!

So, I've spent the last week trying to sort this all out.




Obviously, Mother had sensed my anguish and teleported me home.

One Mother Open Sled

There are some things a horse does not wish to see in his pasture. 

This was one of those things.

Mother and Aunt Margie came by today, and Mother was followed by an absolutely terrifying bizarre object, laden with... stuff. I was exceedingly wary, yet Mother did not seem to notice this horrible thing was following her. Belle actually walked up and sniffed it, but I was having none of it. I stayed well away at all times.

Mother and the thing went into the barnyard area.

Before long, she re-emerged, and she and the thing came into the small pasture again. Belle eagerly met her. I hung back until I realized... hay?

The thing is apparently a hay transporter? At first I let Belle get a mouthful and share it with me; eventually, I braved closer and ate from the garish hay transporter myself.

I realized, too, that it wasn't just eeriely following Mother, but was being pulled by her via the attached rope.

Ummm.... still creepy.

Mother took me in the barn hall to tack me up with my ground driving gear. We stared puttering about the multipurpose:

After awhile, Aunt Margie came out pulling the garish hay transporter, which she and Mother kept calling a sled. At first I was a bit creeped, but as it seemed to stick close to Aunt Margie and not prone to wandering off on its own, I decided it was probably ok. I'll just keep an eye on it.

Belle says it's not that scary, and she was hoping more hay would be forthcoming. That's because she got to stand and sleep in the sun while the thing followed me around. The worst part was, Mother and Aunt Margie kept laughing at me. Not nice.

Why would Mother want to follow me around with that thing, anyway?

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!

Bump in the Night

My weekend with Mother was mostly dark. It was well past dusk when she came up Saturday... I was starting to think it wasn't the weekend, even. She fed me first thing, which was nice, but then we went out to the barn porch for my brushing. I find the barn porch a tad creepy under the best of circumstances but at night...

The problem is, there is a light right behind and above me. I am in effect blinded, as I can't see much past the driveway and Mother's car. So I can't see any predators as they approach. This is unsettling. Magnifying the problem, I am a) tied, preventing escape if required, and b) standing in a big pool of light, easily visible to the predators. Why don't they just get a big flashing neon arrow sign to point at me that says "Tastes just like chicken!"?

Too, at this time of year the breeze is up and there are so many fallen leaves, it is difficult to discern the movements of the predators for all the other racket. I really wish Mother would brush me in the barn hallway, but when the others are being fed and moving around in the barn, we usually go out to the barn porch.

Tonight, Mother got there when it was still a little light out, and she was pulling my Contraption, aka the creepy pole thing

Summertime picture... I forgot there was green grass in there at times...

around the small pasture. The others were ogling it and snorting... they've seen it before silly fools.

Mother brought me in, squeezed me into my surcingle (it must have shrunk in the wash or something, I swear it wasn't this tight last weekend) and took me out to lunge a bit. I was boisterous, but well behaved. This means staying on the prescribed circle, and not pulling on Mother, nor did I buck, but I alternated between canter and road trot at will. At one point I heard Mother giggling: she said I was cantering like Peppy LePeu... something about pogo legs? I don't know what she was talking about, but I am thinking it wasn't very nice. When I was thinking we were probably finished, she had me trot and canter and halt on command in both directions, because she likes to see me be responsive to her requests. She is always very good about letting me know when I have done the right thing, so it is fun, I think.

By this time, it was quite dim out. Mother put my driving lines on, and we drove out into the small pasture, and worked around a bit. I was still puffing, a little... I'm not fat, I just have a good start on my winter coat, and it was warmish today. You try running around in a fur coat for awhile and see if you don't puff, too.

Mother took me into the aisle of the barn, but she hadn't undone my lines outside like usual... she instead hooked up the contraption, and back outside we went. I haven't had to drag the contraption around in forever, but it was kind of fun in the dark, swishing through big piles of leaves, as Mother kept steering me out to the fence of the pasture, and I kept trying to cut it short so I could just go home and eat. That never really works with her, but I continue to try. One day, she'll finally see my logic. I must admit, I do not understand the minds of humans at times. They are absolutely dense when it comes to doing things the easy way so I can go get food!

It is of course, full on dark by this point, with the moon behind the clouds. She drove me back around to the barnyard, unhitched me, fixed my dinner, gave me a good brushing while it was cooking, hurled a missile at the raccoons... then FINALLY, dinner. Yumm!! And I got lots of cookies, because I was a good, good boy. Mother said so.

I want to know, though: what does Mother do on the weekends that she can't come up and see me during the day? The work week is bad enough, and now she barely shows up on the weekends. She says she'll be around more this week, but I'll believe it when I see it.

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!!!!

Blobby

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder... well, so is fat.

Mother thinks I am fat. Too fat. She tells me this on a regular basis. I am not sure that would be good for my morale, if I were a lesser animal, but I know I am beautiful, so I am undaunted.

I enter into evidence, exhibit number 1.

Exhibit number 2.

What, may I ask, appears to you to be superfluous? Is this not the embodiment of equine grace and beauty?

Apparently... this is what Mother sees:

So I am in a modified fat camp. She ground drives me a few days a week, and now she even lets me long line trot around her. She figures my joint can deal with the exercise, since I run around on my own anyway. "Since I run around on my own anyway"... So how is this supposed to help me lose weight?

Note the plant hanging off my lips, despite Mother's attempts at grazing check reins (the funny looking purple things from belly to halter).

Do you like my Contraption? That's what Mother calls the creepy pole thing. 

I have pulled it twice so far driving, and once before that being led. It's not so bad.  I had pulled the poles without the connecting bit in the back a lot of times over the months, so it wasn't a big deal. In fact, the connector seems to smooth out the jostling of the poles.

Mother says she wants to get a harness to teach me more, although I may never end up doing "everything". That sounds kind of creepy, plus I am not sure what a harness is anyway. She has stuck a breastplate and crupper on me before, and hung straps all over me (which I don't really like, but tolerate because they don't really hurt me). She said a harness is kind of like that, but better. It better be better.

All this to earn a few cookies at the end of the day. 

Sigh. 

Sometimes, domestication is such hard work...

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!

Scenic Route

I thought it would be nice to show you my postal route. Mother pointed out I don't technically have a postal route anymore. So, this is my scenic route.

We would start out down the steep driveway...

Down...

To the first bridge. Of course, on the other side, there is a hill.

At the top of that hill, down to the second bridge. See the fence on our right?

This is "the sheep pasture", although I've never seen any sheep there. This is where Devlin-Pony and I lived for the first few months when we arrived in Ohio.

Onward! Just past the second bridge is this: the creepy garden, from the land of small humans with the creepy garden. No small humans are out in this picture, but trust me, they are there lurking... somewhere.

Now up the long hill...

Up....

Past scary views...

And pretty views...

Up...

Till we reach the whole point of the exercise. "You have mail."

Going home is easier.

Down the hill

Down... I must admit, this narrow, dark part is a little scary...

...over the bridge...

Oh, look, there are my guinea hens! When I lived in the sheep pasture, I saw them all the time.

Down again to one more bridge, and almost home!

Except... of course...

UP!!

UP!!!

UP!!!!

You know, Mother drives by those mailboxes every day when she drives up to see me. SHE should get the mail! Then I can just stay with my red mare herd.

Where I belong.

Fired?

I think I've lost my job.

We went to get the mail today. I was... reluctant... to leave the greater stable area. That driveway is steep, and I really would prefer to stay near my mare herd. I knew Mother was frustrated with me, but I really wanted to stay at the barn. Finally, I gave in and headed purposefully down the drive.

Mother kept telling me I should walk. I guess my little slithery jog/shuffle doesn't count as a walk. I got to the first bridge when I heard the baying hound from hell echo down the hill. The neighbor's French mastiff, a giant chestnut beast with creepy amber eyes, galloped down the hill behind me. I tried to hurry up the hill, but Mother insisted I walk. The evil beast came closer, and barking in that horrible loud voice. I spun, in case I needed to attack. Mother yelled at the dog, then sort of at me, and turned me around to continue on.

I saw deer startle across the way. The mastiff started baying again. Then from the area of the land of small humans with the creepy garden, an ungodly noise began (Mother said later they were goats).

We began a living carousel. She said I would be pretty if I weren't such a pain in the hindquarters.

Mother was very annoyed with me. She stopped me finally, and unhooked my driving reins, and made me walk in hand all the way to the mailboxes. She gathered the mail, and re-lined me. I stood very still, like a good boy. As soon as I thought she was ready, I headed home at a purposeful walk. She chastened me and made me stop. She made me stop a lot on the walk home. I JUST WANNA GO HOME!

The hell dog was there at her yard, with her companion, an English mastiff who doesn't bark as much and so I like him better. I tried to hurry up the driveway hill, but again Mother insisted we just walk.

I thought it was great to be home, and surely Mother would feed me dinner, but she drove me in through the barnyard gate, closed it, drove me to the arena, in we went, closed that gate, and made me drive in there a while. Then she lunged me a little bit, too! Sure, it was only a few circles in each direction, but I thought we went home for dinner. I didn't think it would be all this work!

So I understand a lot of postal workers don't like dogs. I can certainly see why. That mastiff weighs more than I did when I was a foal!

I wonder if Mother would let me carry mace?

My New Postal Route

I have a job. I am a postal carrier. Mother and I walk all the way out to the mailboxes a few times a week, and she retrieves the mail, and then we bring it back.

It's a lot harder than it sounds. We go down a big hill, over a bridge, up and down another hill, across another bridge, then up the big hill to where the mailboxes are by the fast road. I have walked up there many times in the last couple of years, whenever I lived at Aunt Marilyn's, but today was different.

Mother drove me to the mailboxes.

And you know that whole "no matter rain or sleet or blah blah blah"? Well, it was windy and there was obviously a storm coming and we went to get the mail anyway!

I didn't see the point of going down the big driveway hill. I tried turning around several times to let Mother know there was no real reason to head out into the wind, we could easily return home. I finally decided she was determined, and we continued on.

At the second bridge, which is followed shortly by the land of small humans with the loud and creepy garden, I was uncertain about crossing. I finally decided to, when there was a loud flutter and from underneath the bridge two monsters flapped and flung themselves into the air! By the time Mother turned me back around, the monsters were gone, but I didn't know where they went. Mother and I discussed crossing the bridge. She decided to lead the way, and I was happy to follow. She doesn't understand how scary it is to be in the lead like I am when I am being driven. Lead mare leads, herd stallion follows. Doesn't she understand that?

We got up to the mailboxes, and she tucked my offside driving line up under my pad, and put the mail in her bag. She says for me to be a postal carrier, I need to carry the mail; she will work on my mail pouch. Anyway, she put her bag back on her back, took up my lines again, and back homeward we went.

It's a lot less scary on the way home. I was trying to hurry at times, but Mother is not into hurrying home.  She even stopped to pick up a pile I made, with a plastic bag that she put into another plastic bag, then into her backpack, all while I watched.

There are easier ways to get that, Mother, than driving me around and scaring it out of me!!

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?