town to get him some drugs. Then, once I got home, I ran to the end of the road and retrieved Melinda’s horses. The three, an appaloosa, a draft horse, and an Arab, all followed me home. It was like being the pied piper of the horse world. All those natural horse clinicians, they had nothing on me.
The three very good horses went right back into their pasture. I struggled some with the fence. I finally tied it back together with a rope that was in the yard. Then, after lunch, I returned and gave them half a bale of hay, putting the other half on the hood of the car that used to be driven by one of the occupants of the house –the woman I called “meth head.”
I returned home and first took Raudi and Signy out, and then Tinni and Siggi out. I was, late in the afternoon, coming around the bend when I saw two horses, the gray Arab and the black draft horse – trotting towards me. Oh oh. I got off Tinni and let them all introduce themselves. I needn’t have worried about there being an altercation – they all acted like they knew one another. Siggi of course did his best Jim Carey impersonation, and Tinni his Humphrey Bogart impersonation. The others, knowing that my horses are imposters, ran into the neighbor yard and began making more divots.
I went home, leading my horses behind. As I was making dinner, Melinda called and said that the neighbors called her and wanted me to take care of rounding up the horses. I then told her about these particular neighbors, and how the male of the household once took umbrage at my going onto his lawn to retrieve Tinni, who walked away when I stopped to tie my shoelace. I went to get him and we both left tracks.
Melinda, ignoring this statement of fact, then, in a rush of words, started giving me horse wrangling specifics. I was to grab this blue halter and put it on that horse, and grab that lead rope, and put it on this horse – it was enough to make my head swim.
I somehow ended the conversation, not mentioning, of course, that I’m all thumbs when it comes to fixing barb wire fences in the daylight. As for at night – no, it wasn’t going to happen.
Sad to say, the saga of the Rafter T horses (that’s what the place where they now reside is called) continues. A neighbor emailed me tonight, says she has four piles of horse poopy on her lawn. Hearing this, I thought, “this a job for Super Scooper.” Yeah, I could put on my cape, run down there with my garden cart, and in the blink of an eye, scoop the offending matter and deposit it in my new compost facility. Then my inner voice said “ta pocketa, ta pocketa.” (tomorrow, more on ta pocketa)
Sure, I’d like to take those horses in. This is because I have the horse gene. But unfortunately, the ark here is full, and I’m now dealing with a sink or swim situation.
Next: 310. 10/16/12: Going, Going, Almost Gone