It has rained and rained and rained. Yes, Luke Bryan, rain may be a good thing, but there's a fine line between enough and too much, and unless you want to bust out the jacked-up 4-Runner and hit the mud bogs, this past week and a half has seen too much rain.
This is a hoofprint. Or maybe it's more like a divot. Or maybe it's more like a sinkhole created by THE BEAST last night. Markus - fancified well-trained dressage horse by day, battle-hardened war horse by night - likes for things to happen in a certain order. He's a control freak. And he's too smart. And I feel really stupid for forgetting just how smart he is last night. Because, most of the time, Markus is seventeen-plus hands of half-horse-half-guard dog, calm and logical. But other times, he turns into the villain of a Peter Benchley novel, hence: THE BEAST.
Last night, after another day swamped by rain, I had the genius idea to feed the horses dinner and then stick them out in the pasture for ten minutes while I mucked their stalls again. They'd been cooped up and needed to stretch their legs, and I didn't think they'd do much but pace beside the gate and ask to come back inside.
AB decided to go for a stroll through the pasture, maybe graze a bit, head down toward the front eight acres. Markus decided he couldn't tolerate this - it was foggy and getting dark and there were deer crashing through the woods - and he tried to herd her back to the barn.
They fought. They squealed. They kicked. He chased her and snapped at her and all freaking hell broke loose. All I could think, as they slid through the mud and tore up great clumps of turf, was: Someone's going to break a leg, someone's going to break a leg, ohmyGodsomeone'sgoingtobreakaleg!! I tried to intervene and quickly learned that standing beside two galloping horses is just like standing on a sitcom street corner in the rain as a bus goes by. There was mud on my face, down my shirt, in my bra. When I finally managed to separate them, I realized I was lucky I was covered in mud instead of blood because I think I almost died twice during that little escapade.
Such is the drama of boring horse people. When asked why I don't do crazy risky things, it's because I've seen my life flash before my eyes plenty just taking care of horses; I don't feel the need to go courting danger on purpose.
Yes, too much of a good thing is a bad thing. All things in moderation...you know how it goes.
I mean, look at these filthy things. The mud. So much mud.
The bright side? All this gloomy weather has put me on a serious writing jag. Better Than You is winding to a close and I had no idea my tiny, two chapter side project would grow to almost a hundred thousand words. It's been almost as much fun as getting slammed in the face with the gate last night, and almost as rewarding as picking mud out of my teeth. But just almost...