Life Trumps Us Again…

It’s been one of those weeks.  This morning’s highlights:

1. I got an email from Jill (? I don’t know anyone named Jill).  I read further. Oh, Jill Biden, the Vice President’s wife.  And I’ve never met her!  How nice is that?
2. Her email asked me if I’d like to sign Michelle’s birthday card. Dang.  I think she has me mixed up with someone else. Who is Michelle? I don’t know any Michelles.

A brain cell politely knocks on my gray matter.

She wants me to sign Mrs. Obama’s birthday card, and thinks I know her well enough to call her Michelle!  Well of COURSE I’m going to sign. And add my personal message.  Via a mass emailing to random democrats. Who cares? I’ll say happy birthday to the first lady, especially when invited by the second lady. Whoa. Someone in the White House knows I exist.

I’ve been seeing a lot of this over the last few days.  It’s winter.  No fog in San Francisco!

Our weird spring weather has finally stolen away.  I was patting myself on the back yesterday for replacing Hudson’s winter blanket.  He sure was going to need it. Bella said she’d cover his care for me.  I’m all set. It’s supposed to be 20 degrees tonight.

Something is nagging at me.  What is it, Lassie? The blanket? Yup, all set.  Where is the blanket? Why, it’s…Uh-oh.  For reasons known only to that poor brain cell, I threw the blanket back in the trunk of my car, after checking the fit. (I’m sure it was heat stress. Who needs a heavy winter blanket when it’s almost 70 degrees?)

Hudson is about 2 hours north of this picture.

It was a pretty drive.

It’s going to be a pretty drive today too.

But at least Hudson has this:

(We are experiencing a slight delay in programming. Translation: you may see some preeeeeety stupid stuff up here until I get it together!)

Murphy Monday: In Which Murphy says “Phhhbbbbbt….”

Daisy, Shaun and I walk the short hill to the winter paddock.  We startle a heron on the way past the lake.

We chat and hike. It’s warm.  Sunny.  Strangely spring-like. Daisy calls Murphy, and he begins to walk down the hill to greet us, stopping after a few steps. Somewhat reluctant. Daisy hikes up and halters him, leading him down. When he gets to us, we mob him, and he perks right up.  Hugs!  Kisses!  Brushing! Neck rubs!

Then we had a little matter of “What is this Leading thing of which you speak?  Leading? I don’t understand “leading”.

But he was incredibly polite about it. He didn’t fight. I put my hand on his butt.  Daisy gave another tug and release. Murphy instantly remembered “leading”.

Ah, the more difficult part of horse ownership.  Leading balk? That means the lovely play time ends, and we go for a walk around the property, outside the paddock.  It was beautiful!  (And my hand pushed on his butt a lot.)

Our boy is 8 months old.  Do you believe it?

I could not seem to get a decent picture of him, no matter how hard I tried.  I was stuck in “frame every photo badly”.  The hazy sky made for flat, low light, with little contrast. Except for the dumb photographer, this would be an okay-ish photo.  Can anyone spot the problem?

You saw it! Most horses DO have hooves.

Murphy wasn’t feeling the photo shoot either:

Oh no…sudden lack of affinity for the camera…could we be seeing glimpses of the teen to come? So uncool of me to photograph him.

Phhhbbbbbt!!  

Hudson on Happiness…

Dear Jane,

I’m totally onboard with our fitness plan.  I love to be super fit, love to go, love to show off my stamina.  Please do not take this as a “back off” letter.

I’m thrilled – and astonished – that we continued to workout through the Celebration of Carrots holiday. (I know humans call this season by a bunch of other names, but trust me, all equines know ’tis Season of Carrots.)

I heard you announce you were ‘going to get a photo of me looking happy, if it killed you’. Let me spell it out. Happiness is not all, “ears forward”.

Behold: I Am Happy…

Notice my muzzle is not visible.  The submerged muzzle is a key indicator to happiness in horses.

This IS my happy face. I can’t help it you know exactly what I’m thinking.

Where was I? Oh, right. Workouts.

You’re going to have to clip me.  Whole body. I know it’s not supposed to be 65 degrees at the end of December. Repeat after me: Climate. Change. I’m dying here.

I’d like a manly, flashy tattoo.  Motorcycle flames would rock.  (I need compensation for the ‘Dressage Horse’ thing.)

BTW, Shaun sent  me the photo of you wearing your new hat. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Now THIS is a donkey I can live with.

You kill me.  I thought DQ’s had no sense of humor…

Please send me Dinero’s email and chat ID.  I’m going to Skype on Bella’s computer. I heard Dinero is officially retired from roping (man oh man, I know how he feels).  I want to stay in touch. Plus, no one does innocent sarcasm like Dinero.  I need to have a buddy to help me rag on Woodward.

Please pass on to…Santa: a Mrs. Pasture’s Easy Bake Oven is a vital gift,  a life-altering gift.

A new turn out blanket? Superfluous. I don’t mind the drafty old one.

nudge,

Hudson

Murphy Monday: Winter Quarters

We’ve been enduring days that end up clear, sunny, and 50 + degrees.  Horrible, I know. How can we stand it? This morning was very chilly and damp, with heavy fog. (Then it turned clear, sunny, and 65 degrees.)

Winter is due to stop by this week for a meet and greet. A few showers. I hope it brings a hostess gift. Something for in front of the fire?

The foals have been moved to winter pasture: enough slant for drainage, but  no hills that might get mucky and slippery.

Today photos are in quarters also: Murphy was so cuddly and insistently affectionate, we could not get him far enough from the camera to get a decent full body photo. This is a kind of  body-parts photo shoot.

Daisy and I were much more about soaking up the affection than getting ‘good’ pictures. Below, Murphy looks up when he hears Daisy call him. I love that – if he can hear her – he comes when called.

Apparently in winter quarters, mobbing the humans is not a requirement.  Only Marilyn and Murphy mob Daisy.

Marilyn has appointed herself “Queen Murphy” and feels entitled to be in charge of all things Murphy-related. (Her Divine Blondness is named after the iconic movie star.)

Murphy growth perspective: Daisy is 5′ 11″.  Marilyn is a three-year-old.

Marilyn helped Murphy tremendously with the weaning adjustment.

It’s worth the few rounds of “flick the nose”  we have to do to engage her memory that humans are higher than Queens in the food chain, and may not be run over or imperiously commanded to leave Murphy alone.

A sweet, happy, in-your-pocket quarter…

When it’s finally time to go, Murphy takes Daisy’s departure easily, and walks back toward the other babies.  Marilyn stops to redirect his focus when he looks back. He’s on higher ground, but their heights are not all that far apart.  I can’t help but wonder how much taller our 7 month old boy is going to get.

Daisy’s decided to move Barbie to the same facility.  Barbie will be in the brood mare pasture. It will make Daisy’s life a lot easier to go to one place instead of two.  The only foreseeable problem? Barbie is unlikely to come when called.

But this is why there are buckets and grain that rattles.

Happy New Year, everyone!