I like to title something I write before I begin plucking away. I suppose I believe it gives me direction, like a goal to shoot for or some such notion. Besides it is easy to be quick witted and creative with a mere sentence; the challenge is to be able to produce a longer piece of work that holds up to the title teaser. So if I fall short of my preset goal the delete tab frees me from feelings of failure and self depreciation.
From the baby room, I hear a tractor engine and the chatter of the little farmer at work. The younger brother already asleep is oblivious to all the plowing and harvesting happening in the next crib. Both boys step into turbo drive just before bed, as if trying to squeeze every ounce of activity out of the day. Or, they simply want me to step over the edge.
Shucks, I had wanted to pen so much more; but alas, the lids are droopy and the brain is numb. Evening included an extended discussion on grades, homework, true honesty, and losing television privileges. Tentative conclusions were reached and a glimpse of humility spotted just over the horizon. Tomorrow holds the Hope of new adventures, larger victories, and a riding lesson at 10 AM.
The vet did come last night and administer the usual gallon of mineral oil to three gallons of warm water through a tube and into the belly of the over fed filly. Mia's diet for the next two days consists of banamine paste, and a few fistfuls of hay, no grain. She is most unhappy watching her two barn mates much down sweet feed and a heap of hay. Oh the pain of consequences.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
OK, its like this...I am in the barn hanging out with my three year old filly, Mia, who very recently ingested way more goat feed than a horse is supposed to. Have a call into my vet, who is on the way. Just grooming, brushing her; more to calm me than her. Her barn neighbor the not so friendly Zulu, named accurately for the African warrior, stretches her long black neck around the corner to snap out a not so friendly nip at my soon to be ailing friend. Defending my rightful sovereignty as Queen of the Barn, I take a swing at the nasty mare. I miss of course. The rubber curry comb clutched in the defending arm is lost in the momentum and swirls across the yard. My ever-faithful dog Howard, who was nowhere to be seen only moments ago sweeps into view making off with the blue treasure almost before I realize I have lost it...Of course.
And I wait for the vet.
And I wait for the vet.