Beer for my Horses

This could become the horse diaries, no doubt.

She's been here a week. I do keep a diary of what I've done with her, how she's responding, what I'm thinking and planning to try next. Her owner brought another bale of hay yesterday although the grass is definitely making its comeback -- Betty Sue looks like she's gained a hundred pounds, the cow's milk production is up, and the eggs are on the increase with bright florescent orange yolks, all from the new grass.

So, I'm working her from the ground. She picked up lunging in, let's see, one session. She pulls rather hard and I'm thinking that will actually be easier to lessen mounted, so I'll probably be riding her this week. Husband worries about that. Her mane is totally roached off so there is nothing to grab. And of course I've got no saddle actually big enough for her so it is me and her and the bareback pad, and I don't think anyone has actually been on her back before. So when I actually think about that, it is rather daunting, but when I'm working with her, it is like I can breathe again and it doesn't occur to me to be frightened -- only what will probably work best with her, no doubt, no tension, only flow.

If she's going well next weekend, I hope to show her off when her owner brings yet more hay. I wonder what he'll think of me taking his work horse and not hooking her. But if it ultimately makes her a better work horse, well, then it will be ok no matter what. Still, I remember my dad coming home from work one day as I was lunging my horse. I'd read about it in a book and tried it on the horse I had at the time. There I was, with the horse thirty feet away from me on a line and I could say, "Trot!" and the horse would trot, and "Wa-alk" and he would walk, and my dad was impressed. I don't think I impressed my dad that often but whenever I lunge a horse to this day, I can see his eyes shining at me like they did that day.

As Betty and I walked to the front today, she acted like she was going to panic as we went by the garden. I spoke sharply to her. Husband hollered over at me to remember, she was a horse, not a husband. I said it was all the more reason for her to know who was boss.

So where is that whiskey from my men? It is supposed to be for my men, not from them? I guess I'll settle for the beer then.