A Matter of Honor

Mother is once again questioning my intelligence. I distinctly overheard her talking to Aunt Nancy, and also the feeding aunts. Her question to them: Is he (ME!) really that smart, or is it just a coincidence?

So, here's the scoop. Mother has, through the years, led me up the sidewalk-y road to the fast loud road at the end. And the first few times, she brought plastic bags with her to... how do I put this delicately?... retrieve anything I may drop along the way. Apparently, the neighbors don't like littering of any type.

I realized, however, that Mother never bothered to collect anything I may have dropped in the graveled area between the steep hill by the barn and the big puddle before the land of enormous dogs. In fact, she always said "Good man" if I did it on the way out. She would look surprisingly relieved when I paused, tail lifted, standing on the gravel as we made our way back home.

Hmmm... I can avoid the ignominy of Mother crouching over my discarded belongings and the stares of potential onlookers as we walk along with her dangling a pendulous and smelly bag by simply not making any deposits other than on the gravel drive.

So the other day, as I stopped twenty feet in from the puddle on the way home (and I must say, that one was tough because we'd been out for a while and I had grazed for some time), Mother made an observation. I had not dropped anything anywhere other than the gravel drive on our many walks since the first 3 or 4 trips. She had at least three times as many examples of my littering on the aunts driveway. Was this just a coincidence, or am I really that smart?

I don't know what she's talking about. I just know I've trained her not to carry plastic bags with us anymore. Really, Mother!! That was so embarrassing.

Jailhouse Rock

Someone has been ruining a good thing. Not to name any names (BERT!), but there have been some breakdowns in fenceline security, which protects us from the lush lawn of the neighbors. While it was just a board or two, and no other transgressions took place, the aunts hustled all of us into the barn for the day, as they did not have time to make immediate repairs.

So because someone is a ruiner, the rest of my day was spent in a stall...hhhmmmrrpf!

And that's not the only trouble this caused. The aunts said they are going to make the fence hot again. They haven't bothered for several years, but the hedge that obscured Bert's view of the green, green lawn on the other side has been removed.

I would rather they just Alcatraz the whole thing, as they have the fencing to the barnyard. I don't like hot fences AT ALL!!

 Alcatraz ~ note the high spot that is my fat donkey's passthrough

Sigh.

I think Bert and I will be having a little discussion about all these changes next time he's out.
Fair Warning.

Pride goeth with the fall

I did something the other day I'm not proud of. Something Mother has never seen me do. Something I sincerely hope never to do again.

Aunt Erin and Aunt Mary had come up for a visit. I admit I may have avoided capture by Mother for a few minutes, since the 5 days of dewormer were still at the forefront of my mind, but Mother is a persistent sort, and I eventually submitted gracefully to her dominion.

Which worked out well, since we went to the porch where she brushed me while the aunts fussed and exclaimed over my looks and pet me. The Herballs were flowing freely, and I was having a good time. Mother decided to lunge me briefly, which she does from time to time to monitor my comfort and use of my not so good limb. Aunt Erin and Aunt Mary like to see me in motion, so we went to the multipurpose, and around and around I went.

I slipped a little once or twice, and Mother guided my circles away from that slightly more slick section. I was volunteering, as always, somewhat more than she had asked for. She cautioned me to watch myself, not go too fast.

I really wasn't even going that fast, nor was I in the slick section, but that's when IT happened.

A back leg slid out. Oops. Then the other. Uh oh... that's OK, I still have the fronts... wait- no, no I don't.

OOOOOFF!

I lurched to my feet and continued on. Mother and Aunt Erin and Aunt Mary hadn't said anything; maybe they didn't see it? My embarrassing little accident never happened! But then Mother halted me and walked up to inspect my limbs.

We walked a bit more, and she trotted me out, and I was none the worse for wear. Nothing hurt but my pride.

The only thing that would be more embarrassing is if the coat story ever got out.
I shudder to think of the shame.

Wormless...

This week, Mother has been up to visit me a lot. Every day, in fact. While at first I thought this was a good thing, I realized that she had but one thing on her mind. Well, mostly one thing.

Allow me to tell you a little more about my week, and the way Mother takes my good nature for granted.

Day 1: She appears in the darkness, leads me in to the crossties, then inserts dewormer in my mouth. Fine. Lot of volume to this type, but whatever. After a reasonable time to allow for processing, she hands me some of my Herballs. Crunch, crunch. Mild grooming. Back outside.

Day 2: She takes me onto the porch, brushes me, tacks me up, lunges me. Clambers aboard for a ride. We walk around the multipurpose, and into the back pasture, too. She gives me a good grooming after my ride. She then sticks dewormer in my mouth. I'm thinking... didn't I just get this yesterday? Oh, well. After a time, Herballs. Uh, I'm not sure I want those. Mother insists. I consume. Eat my dinner. Back outside.

Day 3: Mother leads me into the crossties. Grabs dewormer. Seriously? She inserts the tube in my mouth. I wrinkle my upper lip, to show her my distaste for the procedure, but otherwise remain immobile. She grooms me awhile. Feeds me Herballs. I don't want Herballs, my mouth tastes awful. She insists. I consume. Eat my dinner. Back outside.

Day 4: It was a dark and stormy night. My fat donkey took refuge as best he could.

What, is he cold? With all that fat? It was really fairly warm out. I guess he just wanted a windbreak, so he used the wind flap canvas. Silly, really. It doesn't even cover all of him...

  Not impressive.

 He looks happy enough, though, doesn't he? And foolish.

Anyway, Mother decided to give me yet another tube of the noxious stuff. I wrinkle my upper lip, to show her my distaste for the procedure, but otherwise remain immobile. Evil task finished, she then decided to work on my feet. One hind hoof completed. The donkey left the area. The canvas flapped. Second back hoof complete.

I stood well, but inside, I was stewing.

Blechp.

Finally, I erupted. Mother felt me shake, looked forward, and saw this

Oh, the humiliation again. The salivia-y slime of it all. It was not the entire contents of the tube Mother gave me, but it was a fair amount. Mother sighed. She went to get me Herballs. NOT eating them. She insisted. NOT EATING THEM. She stuck one in the side of my mouth. I spit it out.

Mother went to the feed room, and brought out lots of deworming tubes. It was like a nightmare. She stuck one tube in my mouth, with just a little paste. Squirt. Then another. Squirt. A third. Squirt. OH, COME ON!

Did I object? No. 

Did I squirm, fuss, raise my head? No.

Was I pleased? NO.

Mother went back to work, to do my front feet. Then, I eat my dinner. Back outside. Herballs, which were not so bad by this point.


Mother says there is one more night of this. WHY? WHY?

sigh

Questionable priorities

As usual, Mother has wandered off again. In good news, she should be procuring a new, non-pink halter for me. She claims as it will be specially made to properly fit me, it may take a while to get here, but I am just so excited to have the prospect of a normal halter again, I am willing to wait.

AND she has obtained a grazing muzzle for my fat donkey.

My happiness is complete.

So while I would rather Mother had stayed with me all weekend, providing me with Herballs, she has my permission to go to Equine Affaire as often as she likes...

Vanity, Thy Name is Mother

It has been a very busy weekend for me. My close vet came to do my teeth. Mother took advantage of me while I was in my happy place... she got out the scary sounding spray can thing and sprayed my legs and on my neck. Enh, didn't kill me, didn't care.

Mother and the aunts spent much of the day refurbishing and reinforcing Alcatraz. Now the whole section of fencing in the small pasture that faces the barnyard is six boards instead of three. Some of the horses (not me, of course) have been pushing against and eventually through the non-Alcatraz sections and breaking through. Now of course I don't mind following in such circumstances, although I think I should get credit that there were several breakouts before I decided I should go along, too.

Today, Mother trimmed up my hooves, then decided to see how I looked lunging. She figured she might as well put the saddle on, too. I was vigorous and joyous and... you know, I think there is a certain temperature when it is too warm to work. And still too cold to bath. Today, in my opinion, was such a day. In Mother's defense, I don't really recall her asking me to trot or canter... I was just a volunteering sort.

I was a puffing sort later. Forgot I had so much hair still.

Mother decided a little bit of a sponge bath, using water drawn from the trough, would help cool me off and get off the sticky sweat but not be as cold as the water from the hose. Now, sure, it's 70 some degrees out, but that hose water is very, very cold. Personally, I thought the bucket water was pretty cold. Mother persisted in her bathing of my sweatiest places, and I was rewarded with some hand grazing as my coat dried. Then back to the grooming parlor on the porch...

A few weeks back, Mother trimmed my... well, I was rubbing my tail, and she trimmed some of my personal areas. Kind of a Mexican, not the full South American like last year. Today, however, she went back in and clipped even more hair. I am officially in need of a passport, I think.

She then decided my face could use a little trimming. I will say, she did a nice close job, and managed to get all of my fur without getting my whiskers. She knows I like to keep them. I am very accommodating and keep my head down. Sometimes she gets exasperated as she is kneeling alongside me, I'm not sure why.

She says I sweat so much in the areas she was clipping, and that I would be more comfortable, but I think it's really just vanity on her part. Oh, and she claims the camera's batteries were too low to take pictures, but I think it's just more vanity. She's waiting for the signs of her butchery to fade.

I did get my dinner, a bunch of hay out with my friends, and some cookies in the deal, so it really wasn't that bad. And the aunts will be home soon and there will be still more hay .

I like spring...

Beyond Sproutage

For those curious as to my recovery from the burr avoidance haircut... this was taken on Saturday:

Mother said she is glad she never pulled my mane for the sport horse look... it doesn't really go with my body type.

I still have a long way to go before I look like this again, though...

Just in case you thought there had been a gap in my mane... nope, perfect fly protection as nature intended, without the pink!

Saving My Fat Donkey

My fat donkey is, in my view, a strange creature. When first I met him, I admit I didn't know what to make of him. Devlin found him intriguing... I found him terrifying. I mean, something had obviously gone horribly wrong with this foal. But it turns out he was in fact a different species, and they are more or less expected to look like that.

I say less, because as you may have guessed from his name, my fat donkey is... not quite normal proportions. 

Donkey does run around quite a bit. He is never contained (mainly because he really, really doesn't care for it, and starts banging things... I must try this technique myself sometime). His excess plumnicity can best be attributed to the old horses. He cleans up the mush that Jeanie drops onto the feed mat as she eats and is beneath her to consume. Since she gets fed three times a day, the humans figure he is getting quite a lot of calories.

Mother had tried to get him more exercise by teaching him to drive. Donkey lacks motivation. She suggested a grazing muzzle to his owners. They were reluctant. Mother let donkey's weight problems slide away from her mind. Mother would weight tape him at his heartgirth and then around his brood gelding belly. His brood belly has him weighing 600lbs... obviously not accurate, but not at all reassuring.

Yesterday, while Mother and the Aunts were seeding the pastures, she happened to hunker down to donkey level and looked at his topline. Unlike horses, donkeys ordinarily have level toplines... my fat donkey, who had always been level in his pre-porcine prime, was developing a dip. A smidge of a sway. Mother was alarmed. Donkey isn't very old... only a year or two older than I am.

The seriousness of donkey's weight was brought to the forefront. Donkeys often live to ridiculous ages, but it seems unlikely Donkey would have half of that at the rate he was going. A grazing muzzle will be procured for him. Mother took him for a walk along a portion of my postal route, which the wee donk accepted with zeal and enthusiasm (I think he just remembered where the sheep pastures were, as he had been turned out on them many years ago.) He was enthusiastic on the route home as well, and was not really even huffing by the top of the hill. How can that be?

Mother also has a stealth driving plan. Since the donk is eager and happy to march homeward, she will put the driving lines on him for the walk back, and get more done with his driving training that way, as he will have forward momentum. This could all prove very interesting.

Mother said she was so proud of donkey's attitude on his walk, she even called him by his real name as he got some mid-walk scritchings.

"Good job, Coyote. Good boy."