Wanted: Miniature Horse (must be very very short)

I fell off my horse this week. I knew my days were numbered; there were just too many close calls in the last nearly two years to make me think I could escape the inevitable much longer, but I'd managed to cling on thus far during the bucking fits and sideways spooks if only out of sheer terror of dropping the stomach-churning twenty feet to the ground from his back.

Willie is a big horse, part Clydesdale, part mountain, and this spring I've been using my western saddle during those early haven't-been-ridden-all-winter-and-might-spook-at-just-about-anything outings, thinking that extra handle at the front would save me. When I hoist that thing onto his back, do up the cinch, strap on all my protective gear, and clamber up from my largest upturned bucket, I feel as though I'm sitting on top of the world's largest circus elephant in one of those little tassle trimmed booths the Rajas use. Looking down, the last thing I want to see is the earth coming up to meet me at great speed.

At least my husband was out walking the fields with me that day, taking photos of us with his long lens...there we are cantering lovely circles on the hill..snap...oh, there's Willie deciding he's had enough of me making him go on the correct lead..tail swish..snap..Willie's ears going back...snap, and the wild west show begins...snap snap. After that, he thought he'd better put down the camera and make haste to where I was laid out on the ground. I don't even think I made nine seconds, but like a good cowgirl, I tried.

Later in emerg. the doctor was wonderful and kind, and I explained I had suffered a bit of amnesia directly afterwards, not remembering catching the horse and going back to the barn, untacking, etc. I mentioned the "Natasha Richardson" debacle and immediately sensed an internal eye-roll on his part, but he patiently explained to me why he was pretty sure I wasn't going to end up like she did. I was pretty sure too, since my burning left butt cheek told me where the point of impact had been (I should go back and look for the crater). I'm not really speaking to Willie at the moment; I wonder if horses understand the cold shoulder, but I'm not afraid to get back up there and keep working - Hi Ho Silver...Away!!

Has anyone seen a very large horse hiding behind a very small tree....

No treats for you today buddy boy

Happy Easter

To all my peeps...........have a Happy Easter, may the Easter bunny leave you all kinds of little presents..not the small round brown ones, but Cadbury Easter Creme eggs, and Lindt eggs, marshmallow eggs, jelly beans, chocolate eggs and caramel eggs and ......... bring em all Easter Bunny!!!

Sitting Duck

In summer, there is an auction on Saturday mornings in the town of Woodville. It is a livestock auction, not an antique auction so wear rubber boots and not dressy “I’m out in the country for the day” looking swish shoes which should never have to navigate a mud bog, slippery uphill climb, or heaven forbid...any pile of assorted critter poop.

If you take your children with you, pack your steeliest resolve and firmest “Nay-saying” voice or you will be bringing home with you every sad-eyed, thinnish, needs a good home, save the donkeys, oh aren’t they really cute” animal that they lay eyes on. This is how we acquired Liam the duck.

He came home with us in a batch of fluffy yellow, peeping oh-so-cute siblings, after only a mere ten minutes or so of “Oh PLEEEEEZE Mom...come on, PLEEEEEEEZE?!?!” I caved surprisingly easily; it must have been those little webbed feet. We made a home for them in an empty stall in the barn, and it wasn’t two days until some predator burrowed up into the stall from outside and spirited one away...um, weren’t there five ducklings mom? No sweety, I’m sure we only brought home four.

They moved into a steel dog crate after that for awhile until they got too big, then were relocated into the concrete-floored chicken coop under much protest from the chickens, who picketed and held anti-duck rallies. The kids had fun watching the ducks swim in the fake plastic pond we set up for them and fed them lettuce and treats, then lost interest in them completely. I was left to be mother duck and fed and cleaned them every day. For anyone has had ducks, they are the messiest things on the planet. I led them out to play in the day and back in at night, and when they started to fly, they could do a circuit of the barnyard then land on my back. Trust me, you don’t want to carry one around for too long...they poop every 20 seconds without fail.

Liam was the cutest one of the four, he was dark brown where the others were mixed browns, black and white, and he didn’t have the big red warty thing above his beak like the other muscovies developed as they got older. One afternoon I came home from work and found him sitting on the floor of his stall looking very sad. He had been bitten in the side by a fox perhaps. He wasn’t too bad off, but his wing looked broken and we didn’t know how bad the damage underneath was. Luckily Tom’s cousin was a vet and graciously accepted my frantic call. We took him to her house and he was the perfect patient, letting us flip him onto his back on her kitchen counter while she carried out an examination. She cleaned the wound, dressed it, and even came back a few times to change the dressing. Sure, the ten dollar bunch of ducklings turned into several hundred dollars in a short period of time, but what could I do?

He never was able to fly, but healed up just fine. Several bottles of wine later, I was just fine too, but decided to give the ducks away to another farm where they had lots and lots of other ducks and fowl to play with. I am told Liam has children now and is as happy as can be. He’s not the only one, the chickens have repo-ed their home and have taken the plastic back off their furniture.