If only our horse lives could stay in a sort of rosy, carrot and alfalfa scented fog of perfect bliss and connection.
While my ideal state for relationships is All Bliss, All the Time, there’s a problem. That rosy, foggy, carrot and alfalfa scented state is strictly imaginary.
As anyone in any relationship anywhere is well aware.
This is partly why those incredible moments of connection are so sweet. BECAUSE THEY GO AWAY.
Sorry. Didn’t realize I was shouting.
Back to Reality:
The Super Model went back to being an ordinary horse.
I’ve learned this at the training barn: a surprising number of mares have “Blanket Issues”. Even if they like blankets.
The Super Model is more or less decent about having her blankets removed. She is more or less psycho about having them put back on. Often, a stud chain has to be involved, to keep all four hooves on the ground, and so we don’t end up pinned beneath her. She would like the blanket to be put on very, very fast.
RIGHT NOW. HELLLOOOO. CHOP CHOP. MOVE. I’LL DO IT. YOU’RE IN MY WAY.
She wants to charge me down and swan dive into the head opening, her ears pinned, her lips curled, her eyes small and glaring.
I was lucky. I got a two-day “You’re back! You’re back!” grace period. Soft eyes and sweetness while I gently pulled blankets off and on again. She’d been on the road. I assumed she’d finally given in to trainers requirement that We Stand Still For Blankets.
Day three: she had a change of heart about many things: mowing me down seemed like a decent option when a butterfly gently fluttered down onto a pretty flower.
Rats. My job is to make her more afraid of ME than random nunchuk-wielding butterflies.
That unfair, totally wrong thing that our mother said? This hurts me more than it hurts you? It’s that hard to wallop The Super Model. I want to sob because she had been so sweet, and now I’m beating the crap out of her. More or less.
The good thing about horses…as long as we are fair and not acting out of anger, it doesn’t change how they feel about us. Once past the evil butterfly and in the barn, she nuzzles my hair.
Awwwww. She still loves me.
Later, she’d like to kill me when I’m putting her blanket back on. Nothing like being in a 12×12 box with a 16.3 hot horse that is trying to climb up your body because you are not blanketing her fast enough. Note: this is not fear. She is impatient, and wants me to hurry up, preferably by making the blankets magically appear on her body, without all the annoying buckling, tweaking, and head insertion. I’m somewhat familiar with Reality. I have the chain ready. We work on standing still, quiet, and relaxed for blanketing. Four times.
Oops There Goes Gravity:
I started laughing: it’s love. We don’t get to cherry-pick the warm fuzzy stuff and avoid the random bitchiness. (Shaun would verify this.) Love is all-inclusive.