Conglomeration

Apparently, humans are hung up on the past. They like to know who your parents are from forever ago and where you come from and blah blah blah.

I am a registered fully foundation Nokota, which means both of my parents and their parents and those parents' parents ad naseum came from the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. While our existence can be traced back to the horses of Sitting Bull, obviously a few ranchers' horses must have wandered into the herd at some point.

While looking at some stills from my video, Mother was laughing a bit; she says I could be most any breed at times.

Hrrmph.

If you didn't know what breed I was, what would be your guess?

This sent Mother down memory lane, and she dug up some other diverse sorts of pictures:

Seriously, Mother? You thought this should be included?!

Mother, stop picking the embarrassing ones!

OK, I don't even look like a horse in this one.

Mother!! Why do you always throw this one in there!!!!

So if you had never heard of Nokotas, what would you think I was?

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.

Shiny new thing a ma bob (not mine)

Do you think Mother would get me one of these?

I bet FarmWife will get one for Fenway...

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.

Nostalgia

A few years ago, before I had my surgery on my leg, Mother was teaching me how to carry her around. After our initial abortive attempt,  I realized it was not such a bad idea. It made her so happy, and it really wasn't that hard of work.

 Although she is pushing her maximum density in these pictures. By the time she was less dense, I no longer was asked to carry her. Well, last year we did our little mini rides 7 or 8 times. But that doesn't really count.

So the other horses she now rides get the benefit of her minimalization, and not me. That doesn't seem fair. But since I didn't know better at the time, I just made the best of the situation.

These pictures were taking shortly before she went away for quite some time. Aunt Margie made sure I got brought in and fed and cleaned and everything during that time. As you can see, I already had her number. I knew which pocket was the cookie pocket.

Mother announced one cold spring day that she was going away for a while. She brought me in from the field, led me up to the mounting block at the back of the barn, and before I knew it, she was sitting on me.

Just her. No saddle... it felt quite strange. When I started walking it felt stranger still.

There was lots of strange things about that. She didn't have a helmet, I didn't have a bridle... I had less than 15 rides. Another human looked at her asked if she had gone crazy. She said, "Well if he kills me, I don't have to go to ****, now do I?" She just rode me to the front of the barn. It wasn't so bad.

She started riding me without a saddle a lot more, usually just down to where I would hand graze, and again on the way back up to the barn. It was strangely comforting, being ridden without a saddle. It reminded me of something, but I can't quite put a hoof on it...

Olaf C. Seltzer - Stolen Horses                                     .

Anyway, those days are long gone. Now I don't have to do any work for my cookies.

Life is good.




**** Somewhere hot and desert-y and far, far away.

So Not Snow

 This is NOT snow. 

This is just messy white stuff.

I had ventured outside when it began. I like snow, after all. I'm from North Dakota! But since the ground was still slick from the warm temperatures and rain, rain, rain we've had...

This isn't worth it, I'm going back inside.

Mother stopped up oh-so-briefly today. I heard her out in the Small, but I wasn't about to leave the run-in. She'll find me. I heard her approach, and made eye contact through the gap between the freshly hung canvas windbreaks and the post. Mother nickered. I nickered.

She started to push the canvas aside and step in. All hooves broke loose! All I know is Belle screamed BEAR! and flew into me and I ran back, too. When Mother peeked inside again, Belle stood shaking near me and I was still trying to figure out where the bear was.

Once Belle figured out it was only Mother and not a bear, she was fine. Mother apologized, telling her she didn't see her for the canvas. It takes some getting used to again, since we only have the shade cloth up the rest of the year, and you can see through that.

But you said there was a bear, Belle... where's the bear?

Mother had me follow her into the barn, where I ate some hay in the aisle while she picked my feet. She lead me back out, gave me cookies, and left.

Yeah, well, it is kind of a blah day. At least I got some cookies. (Herballs and W&W. Woohoo!)

Aiding and Abetting*

Mother came to visit me today, but she was not alone. She brought a human I'd never seen, but who introduced herself by giving me cookies. Mrs. Pastures, in fact... the cookies were Mrs. Pastures, not the actual woman.

I'd really like to meet her!

We went out on the barn porch, and the strange human and Mother brushed me and picked my hoovies and Mother clipped my halter path. They talked about me... Hello, I am right here and I hear every word you are saying. Excuse me??

Mother weight taped me, so I obligingly stood while she snugged the tape. She turned to remark, but then thought  I moved my ribs so she snugged it up some more, all the way to yesterday's weight. The strange human said, "Don't worry, though, he's FINE. He isn't thin."

"Fine" doesn't get me food, lady... I'm not sure I like you. Wait, there is still another cookie in your pocket. I'm sure you are very nice, just a bit misguided in not asking Mother to increase my intake.

Mother wandered off to go gerry-rig the already mickey-moused Multipurpose fence so she could free lunge me in there and stare at my leg. sigh. At least the strange human with one cookie left brushed me and fussed over me while Mother blundered about.

Lots of the fence in the multipurpose isn't really there, or is there but not attached. Sometimes the deer will break a panel, but usually it is Bert barging into things. He is the reason Alcatraz gets redone all the time. He is why we have the zapping fence. The Aunts don't worry too much about the Multipurpose fence, though, as it is closed or open at the gate and if horses are in it, it is OK to go out back into the grassy pasture, too.

Except when Mother lunges me.

Mother hasn't lunged me in a long time, at least a month. She says she has been afraid to look. You don't need Dramamine for this one, because the strange human with one cookie left apparently did the recording. Her device didn't make creepy noises or flash funny lights. I didn't really even notice she was putting my moving soul in the little box, so she can come back anytime (bring cookies).

Mother then took my moving soul and drowned out the bizarre noises she was making by putting some man's voice over it. I think her voice is fine, especially when she calls me "Handsome", or calls me to dinner, or tells me I am a Good Boy.

So as you can clearly see from this, there is nothing wrong with me. All the times I am not perfectly even, there was a tussock of grass that altered my stride, or ahhh... ahhh... uhhhh... and the ground slopes from the snoozing mower end to the gates everywhere end, so there's that and... I'm fine. Really. Nothing to see here. Just skip it, actually.

Afterwards, Mother put me on the lawn while she prepared dinner, then she and the strange human with one cookie left sat and talked while I ate, and even seemed to get in some weird fight that wasn't a fight but made no sense. Mother turned her rump on the stranger and I was sure a melee was going to ensue (you know how mares can be) and I was prepared to move if necessary, but it blew over as quickly as it started. Humans are very odd at times.

The strange human finally gave me her last cookie, and Mother put me outside with more hay and my good-bye cookies. So while I got a lot of cookies, it was a very strange day.


*Aiding and abetting is an additional provision in United States criminal law, for situations where it cannot be shown the party personally carried out the criminal offense, but where another person may have carried out the illegal act(s) as an agent of the charged, working together with or under the direction of the charged party, who is an accessory to the crime... the provision of "aiding and abetting" must be considered alongside the crime itself, although a defendant can be found guilty of aiding and abetting an offense even if the principal is found not guilty of the crime itself. In all cases of aiding and abetting, it must be shown a crime has been committed, but not necessarily who committed it.^[1] It is necessary to show that the defendant has willfully associated himself with the crime being committed, that he does, through his own act or omission, as he would do if he wished for a criminal venture to succeed. (Stolen from wikipedia)

Enrichment

Mother came up this afternoon while I was loafing in the shed with my Belle. We were grumbling a bit to ourselves at our conditions. The shed needed cleaning, and our mid-day feed was late, as the mysterious uncle was having a birthday and delayed Aunt Marilyn's arrival for feeding.

Truthfully, it wasn't all that late, as our meals are spread out almost perfectly to 8 hours apart, but it was a dreary day and I was feeling grumpy and uncharitable.

Mother appeared through the shade cloth (and why isn't the canvas wind-block up yet?!) and walked to me and said "Hi." She peered perplexedly and with a little concern at the twin marks on the left side of my muzzle ( I refused to tell her if they were from the fangs of a rabid raccoon or if I somehow managed to scrape myself most oddly). I sniffed the needle and syringe in her hand and sighed. She swabbed a tiny spot on my neck with an alcohol wipe, wiped her thumb, pressed... pressed... poked me, did something that feels funny while she looked at the syringe, then pushed its contents into my neck.

Well, OK, but could you feed us or call room service or something? I mean, I stood here perfectly and you didn't even use a halter or a rope on my neck or anything.

Because she understands me so well, Mother put some hay out for Belle and I while she cleaned the run-in. Belle and I both made sure to use it right after she spread the bedding to reassure her we knew what it was for - and to let her know she had job security. That's important in today's human world, I hear.

She brought me in for dinner (Aunt Marilyn was feeding my orange mare and Bert by then) and then I went back out to the Small where Mother had already placed our hay in tiny little pre-fluffed piles all over the ground.

Mother likes to do this when the weather allows for it. So on dry days, not-hurricane-windy days, and even snow-covered but not actively-snowing days, Belle and I must wander around our acre if we want to eat. Sometimes we'll eat a few piles and retreat to the run-in to chat with Callie and Bert through the window. It is kind of nice to be able to go back out and still find hay when you get the urge a little later.

And then later still, I might roam around to see if there was a stalk or two that I may have overlooked earlier.

When I am in a stall for any real length of time Mother usually uses the hay net with the really tiny holes, which is kind of nice because I never seem to run out of hay that way. The aunts don't do that, so while Mother says she would like to have those nets up for me and Belle while we are out in our Small, I guess the tiny "enrichment-exercise" piles will have to do.

Mother was talking about the droughts and shortages that are taking place for other horses out there. I started to feel bad about my uncharitable thoughts of "Where's hay? Where's the cleaning service?". I have become so accustomed to domestic life and easy food and clean stalls that I forgot that life isn't always so pleasant. I mean, I still get hay at least three times a day, and there is still green nubs of grass to nip off, even in such a little area as the Small. And Belle and I don't have to stand in the run-in after we've sullied it. It wasn't raining or even breezy out...

Mother kissed my nose, avoiding my mystery marks, and gave me Herballs before she left. Even though she has taken to this weird obsession of stabbing me every few days, I guess I should be happy for the way things are.

Although she could have given me a Mrs. Pastures cookie today. I know there are still plenty of them left, and I was a good boy and I got shot today. That totally should have netted me a Mrs. Pastures or two.

sigh

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!!!!

Sharing: It's not for Everything

Mother has some issues. She is a rather anonymous sort. She blames it on her time "in the service" and fear of identity theft, etc. etc. ad naseum, ex post facto...


Where was I?



Oh, so while she tries to maintain a certain amount of anonymity, she uses me as her shield. My name is the one on CoTH and Facebook, and comments on other blogs, but I am not usually the one saying things. This could get me in hot water, you know? I mean, it would be one thing for her to play Jeopardy! on Facebook under my name... but what if I am selected?

I don't know the answers to all those questions! I don't know how to work that buzzer thingy! Why can't Mother get her own life and stop borrowing my things??

sigh.

How many cookies can $36,681 buy?

Alien Abductions? What are you doing up there?

So there are some things about this whole riding business that I just don't understand.

The biggest question, WHY?, is too profound for a simple horse like me to understand. I know Mother is not the only human that does this to horses, and I know some horses who even thought it was fun, so I'm not going to really delve into that question.

The thing I want to know is, what are you doing up there when it feels like the aliens are abducting you? We'll be walking along, and suddenly, Mother is just gone from my back. But her weight is still there... sort of. Super duper creepy. I can see her out of the corner of my eye, but the weight on my back feels different, and I just don't understand what is going on up there.

Then sometimes when that happens she is suddenly much farther forward, like she is leaning over my neck. I really don't like that when we go under trees, but she does it anyway. This weekend she did that and the tree branches whacked her twice and I started to Get Out of Dodge, but she sat up and said to stop and all was normal again. I wouldn't freak out Mother, if you would only stay where you are supposed to be. But how do I know tree aliens haven't grabbed you? And if they grabbed you, guess who's next? ME!

And I remember a long time ago, when I used to trot and stuff, sometimes she would rise up and down as I strode along. The first time that happened, I was very worried. Mother made me walk and rose up and down to my walk stride, which while creepy, whatever. Then she did the same thing again at trot, and it wasn't nearly as alarming. It was actually sort of fun. Leg swing, Mother swing, leg swing, Mother swing, leg swing, Mother swing, leg swing...

Where was I again?


We don't really trot anymore. Mother started riding me again last fall, and she usually hops on for 7 or 8 minutes a couple times a month. I guess it makes her happy, and I won't really complain. My leg doesn't really bother me any more after she's ridden me than it does on a normal day.

But could she please just sit down and stay there? Please?

An interesting opportunity

Mother says that sometimes my activities are... might be considered... um, well, a little bit DULL.

Just a touch, mind you. I don't see what could be more important than friends and food and love. And she rode me for seven or ten minutes yesterday. I do things.

She feels that she could perhaps be as entertaining as I am. And she has lots of stories to tell about Cappy.

So, please take a moment to respond to the poll I put up just under my picture at the top of the page.
Anyone can click it.
You don't have to be a member of my Hair Club for Men or anything.

ETA: The poll is closed, but Mother plans to announce the "other" blog when she has it up and running.

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.

To the grave

Certain secrets, Mother shouldn't know. I know she ponders these things, sometimes she even asks me straight out, but I will not tell:

1. How did I learn to suck in my belly when she weight tapes me? I blow up my belly for girthing (only a teensy bit, not like most horses). 1-b. How do I know that cookies keep flowing if the weight tape stays below 1,000 lbs? Actually, I've been staying well below 970 lbs, unless Mother keeps the tape on real long and I have to start breathing again.

2.Why am I rubbing my tail?

3. Where is the !$@!z&! old camera?

Even I don't know the answer to that one...

Serious Business: PSA

I'm not a gossipy type horse, and I don't believe in chain letters, but I do believe in changing misconceptions. So while this is a bit off topic (I don't even have a pond to swim in):

Drowning doesn't look like drowning.  What does it look like?


I am just one horse. But I have lots of human friends, and those friends have lots more friends.

And I would like for those human friends to keep giving me cookies.

The Infamous Coat Story: As told by Mother

Boyfriend has been too ashamed to let this story out, but it is too funny not to share, and such an example of Bif-ness.

I am cleaning the run-in, with Bif and Belle in attendance.  Growing warm from my labors, I remove my winter coat and set it, folded, over one of the arms of the wheelbarrow. Belle is well known for investigating/molesting anything we may leave out, but Boyfriend is not a fusser. He seldom mucks about with anything we might leave out, so I am surprised when he goes over to sniff and investigate.

I forgot that there had been Herballs in the pocket the evening before. While the Herballs were gone, perhaps their scent lingered.

Bif grasps the coat in his teeth and starts to back up. I give the infamous ANN-ANNT sound to indicate, NO! Bif, now alarmed that he is being followed by the coat and in trouble with Mother, attempts to flee the area, swinging away into Belle. Coat still attached.

Belle squeals, turns, and flees the run-in. Bif scoots to the far corner, frantic that the coat continues to follow him. He starts cutting back and forth, spinning, attempting to evade the assailant that constantly dances in front of him and occasionally slaps his legs and chest. This goes on for some time. At least two minutes. Perhaps longer. In about a 16 by 12 foot section of the run-in.

I'm ashamed now to admit I stood, cartoonish, hand extended and laughing Ha-HA. Torn by my desire to go and offer assistance, knowing I would more likely be trampled in the endeavor; by my shame at laughing at my poor, bewildered beast; and by outright humor at the fact that my horse is too stupid to just open his mouth and let the coat go.

I'm also a bit disturbed that all of this is taking place over the yet-to be cleaned portion, so not only is Bif tearing up the bedding and stirring in muck, my coat is not being rendered any cleaner in the process.

To make it worse (funnier), Belle periodically charges in, squealing and striking with her front legs at Bif's attacker, then turns and flees again. Bif tries to follow her out, but the coat stops him every time. That, and he is leery enough of passing through the canvas and or shade cloth on an ordinary day... now, he is convinced it is a solid wall.

Finally, as I sidle up to assist, the crazed mare charges in yet again, squeals, strikes, spins, and Bif follows her out while the windbreak canvas is still out of the way,  dropping my coat just outside of the run-in.

I catch my breath, blot my tears of laughter, and decide to catch him up, and check his mouth thoroughly to see if he had perhaps grabbed it near the elastic cords and one had hooked on his teeth... Marilyn came up while I was attempting to catch him. I could only sputter and make odd noises. I tried to reassure her that everything was fine, but I couldn't really breath. Bif was of course petrified this whole time.

There were no abrasions in his mouth.
There were no rips to the coat.
There was one hell of a funny story.

I only wish I had been able to catch the whole thing on video. We would definitely have won $100,000.

Feel the Burn

OK, this last week was a nightmare. Mother came up to give me a bath on Tuesday. She sprayed me with stuff, fly sprayed me, and put some GnatGnoo all over my lower regions. I didn't mind, because it wasn't pink, and you need something to keep the flies away.

Sometime during the night, I realized things weren't feeling quite right. By the time Mother came and saw me the next afternoon, I was miserable and swollen and burning up. Mother was beside herself. Really. I was in enough discomfort I saw two of her.

Because Mother has no discretion, she told others my story. Like being burned alive isn't bad enough, you go and tell the world, Mother? Really?

It took awhile, but I am at last recovered. Well, hairless, but healthwise recovered.

And I got a lot of cookies out of it. But if that's what it takes to get cookies, I would go my whole life without another.

Let us never speak of this incident again.

Some Holiday

Mother came to the barn yesterday afternoon, hosed me off (I was a little sweaty, I admit), fed me my suppies, and bolted for the hills. No cookies. Ah, well, whatever. At least I got my dinner.

She returned later in the evening with Aunt Margie. She smelled of other horses. Hrrmmmph. She tacked me up, and off we went to the multipurpose. She clambered aboard, and we walked into the good grass pasture. Mother makes fun of me because I don't like walking out through the gap, but I slid the first time we went through that earlier this year. It could happen again. A horse needs to keep his feet, so excuse me if I'm a little cautious.

We walked around to the back fence, and there were occasional loud booms that sound sort of like guns but not quite. They have been going off at times for days now ... what are the humans hunting? Whatever it is they are shooting at, there are either a lot of them to catch or those hunters are really bad shots. I flinched at a really loud one, but Mother seemed unconcerned so I figured they weren't shooting in our direction.

(I must say, later that evening, the hunters must have come upon a whole flotilla/herd/flock/murder/pod of whatever it was they were hunting, because there were shots for 40 minutes straight at one point, and lots of intermittent ones, too. Humans are strange.)

Oh, so anyway, on the way back across the field, Mother started saying "Hi, Dear!" Well, d'uh, I'm right here, and you've been on for a few minutes. Why are you saying "hi" now?  Then there was a commotion to the right, and I saw a deer bolt away. I jumped and flinched, but Mother reminded me she was with me and everything was ok. As we walked on, I still stared towards the deer. Mother rose up in her stirrups, probably to resettle herself as she often does, but at the time it freaked me out... was an alien pulling her up off my back and it was going to grab me next?!? I started to get the hell out of there, but Mother sat back down and told me to "WHOA", so I did. She pat me and we walked on, up towards the gap where Aunt Margie was sitting. But she started making an odd sound with the black thing she was holding.

Aunt Margie's black, clicky thing is scary, and I refused to go anywhere near her, even though she put it away. She obviously still has it somewhere. Mother had me walk out over the branch by the garden paddock corner, walked me in the multipurpose a little while, then leapt off (always kind of freaky) and pat me.

See, photographic evidence of the abuse. I don't think all this carting Mother about can be good for my joint... and if I say I don't want to go near Aunt Margie, she shouldn't insist like that...

Oh, well, I did get some cookies out of it, and 5 minutes on the lawn. And it's not like she's on me for that long... I guess I'll hold off calling the authorities a little longer...

Fair Play, a Dirty Game, and my newest enterprise

Turn about is fair play. Mother has persisted in dumping and or spraying cold water on me for years now, telling me it's for my own good. But when I return the favor during our walk, grooming time, etc with quarts of nice warm saliva*, she gets irritated.

Does that seem unfair to anyone else?

And Mother played an odd trick while I was eating my dinner. She took the (admittedly small) remainder of my Herballs out to the small and scattered them around. Belle and Bert went to scavenging, and by the time I went out after dinner, I was hard pressed to make sure that I got my fair share, which of course is all of them, since they are MINE. Was this some sort of bizarre retribution for the saliva thing?

I had told her I was sorry.




*Unlike last year, I have accepted the drool. It no longer freaks me out into hypochodriacal, paranoid prey-species paroxysms. In fact, it was the impetus behind my latest endeavor: my Red Mare Herd and I are starting a band. With my honorary degree from Drooliard, "Boyfriend and the White Clovers" should be making appearances soon, perhaps even at a venue near you! We'll cover songs like "Crimson and Clover"; other bands such as Drool and the Gang; and even Broadway tunes from popular productions like "Drooley and the Beast" and "Romeo and Drooliet".

Down the Rabbit Hole

Mother is a fascinating human. I think most humans are a little bizarre, but I have grown accustomed. Mother makes more sense to me than other humans, most of the time, but at other times...

Mother and the aunts have been acclimating my red mare herd to the grass. Often, they graze us on the lawn. Mother has let me graze free on the lawn, as she is too lazy to stand there with me. Since I am a particularly herd oriented horse, she doesn't worry that I'll flee the wrong direction if trouble comes. One, I am smart, two, the fast road is about three quarters of mile and many grassy knolls away. And three, as I discovered the other weekend~ there are no horses anywhere else, anyway.

The other day, Mother decided to put me on the tract to graze. This is a 50 foot wide expanse of grass between brush walls that extends from the lower driveway up to the house. I had been led down it a time or two earlier in the year, although this day Mother took me down via the driveway.

Mother unclipped the lead from my halter, and stood watching. I ate a few bites... walked a few steps up, ate a snatch, walked more steps, one more mouthful... and started walking determinedly up the hill. Mother sighed. She decided that going around the driveway was easier than scrambling up the steep tract in my wake. That, and she is afraid of ticks.

The poor thing seemed a bit confused, because while I grazed well up the hill, in the neighbor's yard behind our paddock (yes, the neighbors with the roam-everywhere-devil-dogs, who fortunately like horses), Mother presumed I had stopped at the top-ish of the tract, since the underbrush was so heavy, and she didn't see me on the lawn, as she would have expected. She sat on the porch of the house and waited a few minutes. The barking of the smallest neighbor dog urged her to check on my safety and whereabouts.

Mother quickly ascertained I was not in the little meadow at the top of the tract. As she clambered her way back up the hill, she saw one of my hoof marks. She followed them... to a bush. My hoofprint was clearly visible under the protecting branches... which arced about two feet off the ground. And were dense. And extended upwards, as well. Meeting the branches of the neighboring brushy vegetation.

Mother was puzzled as to how I had gotten through there. From other prints, it was clear I had not jumped. But how, she wondered, could a thousand pound horse gotten through an area a fawn would have issues with and NOT even broken a single branch? And more importantly, where had I gone?

She knows me, though, and found me immediately behind the paddock. She laughed at the little blossoms all over my tail and in my mane, but she didn't seem as enchanted as I had hoped. She escorted me back to the main lawn, and pondered again my feat. Was I a magical being, capable of transforming to the size of a rabbit at will?

Um, I'm from the North Dakota badlands. If my papa could avoid the roundup for years and years, I surely can pass through brush with no trace. Come on, Mother, a little faith.