Adding Insult to Injury

Brett was doing great yesterday.  The back of his hand no longer looked like hamburger and his limp was pretty much gone.  He felt well enough to start laying cement block in the trench he had dug, for another compost bin.  We talked about riding together later in the week if it isn't too hot after I get home from work (the heat hangs in the air, sometimes).

I had an early meeting this morning so I was on the road, instead of helping, while Brett fed the animals breakfast.  Each horse gets a small plastic tub (the size of a frying pan) in the mornings with a mix of their vitamins, any meds, fly repellent (vinegar and yeast, smells really strong) crumbles and a couple carrots.  It sounds yucky, but the horses love it -- even Jackson who is very picky.  Brett mixed up each of the bins and headed out to the pasture.

In the mare pasture, Lucy gets her bin first.  This is not open for negotiation.  Next to her, a few feet down, Pistol or Jackson get theirs.  They take turns being in the second spot.  This morning, Pistol was second.  After putting hers down, Brett moved down another few feet, bent over, and set Jackson's bin in front of him.  All three horses were lined up nice and neat and calm, the usual routine.

Except... Lucy got a bug up her butt, pinned her ears and swung at Pistol.  Why?  Lucy will tell you that it is royal prerogative and she doesn't need a reason.  I've seen her pin her ears and charge Pistol when Lucy is bit by a fly.  Is it fair?  No.  Lucy doesn't care.  In this instance, Pistol wasn't going to wait for an explanation.  She jumped sideways, away from Lucy, and smack into Brett -- bent over, putting down Jackson's bin.  Brett went flying into the fence -- believe me, getting hit by a thousand pounds will send you flying.  Over the years that we've had horses, I've been sent airborne twice and it isn't pleasant.

So, Brett is back in the house, sitting in his chair, popping ibuprofen.  And I'm pretty sure he's cursing under his breath.

Temper, Temper Lucy

Before Camille and I left for Shaver Lake last week, I was up early to ride Lucy before Camille woke up and we loaded the car.  As I walked down the back porch steps, the donkeys started braying in anticipation of breakfast.  Lucy walked over to her pasture gate and gave her "I'm hungry" nicker.  She was not impressed when, instead of feeding, I slipped on her halter and took her to the tie rail.

The morning air was cool and Lucy was animated as we walked up to the dressage court.  She stood still while I mounted but I could feel her displeasure as we walked around the arena.  She wanted to buck (the equivalent of giving me the finger) but is too much of a lady for that.  Instead, she wagged her head when I asked her trot.

I had been thinking I should watch her trot and canter on the lunge to evaluate how her hocks were moving.  Now, I thought, would be a good time to do that.  Lucy could be as pissy as she wanted without me on her back; better for both of us.  I hopped off.  Lucy was immediately thinking "breakfast."  The lunge line was not hanging on the fence by the dressage court.  I thought there was one in the horse trailer tack room so we walked down to the trailer -- which was on the way back to her pasture.  While I poked around in the trailer, Lucy nosed the shelf on the inside of the door, looking for cookies.  Neither of us found what we were looking for.

I continued walking my prancing steed to the barn.  As we walked down the barn aisle, I could hear Lucy "What the heck?  Where are we going now?  This isn't the way to breakfast."  The lunge line wasn't by the roundpen so we walked back outside, through the rear barn doors, and over to the small arena.  The lunge line was there; faded green and a bit stiff from being out in the weather.  I picked it up off of the fence and we walked all the way back up to the dressage court.  Lucy didn't balk but she definitely lost the pep in her step.

Back in the dressage court, I snapped the lunge line to her bit ring and asked her to walk off.  She walked a step, then bucked.  And bucked.  And bucked.  And bucked.  All the way around the circle, twice.  She didn't pull and she didn't kick at me but she didn't do anything except buck.  Then she launched herself forward into a gallop; going so fast that she was leaning like a motorcycle -- if I had been on her, my toe would have touched the ground.  "Aaaand trrrot" I said.  She gave me one step of trot, then shifted back to a canter.  I let her run until she found her brain and did a couple transitions from my voice.  Then we changed directions.  She bucked and galloped a bit and then settled.

I unclipped the lunge line and took her back for that breakfast she so wanted.

I think her hocks are just fine...