Tip your pizza delivery guy well. Always.

29 May 2013 Comments

A few weeks ago, I brought everything home from the barn and piled it in the middle of my living room. That was as much as I wanted to deal with it at the time.

But when I ordered pizza last weekend, the delivery guy was giving me funny looks. While I was eating, I peered around the apartment, trying to figure out what he was eyeballing. I couldn’t find it through all the mess… oh, right. My apartment was starting to look like a candidate for a Hoarders episode.

Since it was a long weekend, I grabbed a stack of towels, a bucket of water, and faced the mound of stuff. It would be cleaned. It would be organized. It would be stored.

The last one was a bit of a problem, actually. My apartment has very little storage. Just a walk-in closet, really. And that was already full of horse stuff that I didn’t want to keep out at the barn.

I shoved the storage problem aside and settled down to cleaning and organizing.

First I cleaned Ro’s bridle. Then I cleaned her other bridle. Then I cleaned her other bridle. I wondered briefly why I owned three bridles, until I remembered that I also have the Super Saint’s old bridle. So that’s four. No, wait—six. Someone gave me two other bridles recently, although they are going off to a rescue’s fund raiser because six bridles for no horses is really overkill.

Then the saddles (all three of them). Plus the bareback pad. And is this an extra set of reins? Why, yes it is. And look—a lunge line AND long lines.

I cleaned, I sorted. And cleaned. And sorted.

Every once in a while I threw something in the pile to send to the rescue, but for the most part… I’m going to get a horse again some day, you know. I might need this stuff again.

Let’s not talk about the fact that not one piece of tack I kept from the Super Saint fit Ro—now I have cob and regular horse-sized stuff, so I should be set. (Having said that, my next horse will either be a jug-headed 17.2 monster or a Shetland pony.)

Eventually all easy things come to an end, of course. Everything was clean, and I still had no idea where to put it all.

I pulled everything out of the closet and started consolidating with a vengeance. Every once in a while I pulled out a helpful (or hopeful) cat, and slowly but surely the mound of stuff disappeared in plastic containers or bridle bags or trunks.

I have everything somewhat sorted right now, except for one empty trunk that I don’t have room for. That one will go out to my trailer and live in its tack room. I’m just hoping I don’t find anything in the trailer that needs to come home.

Except that as I sat on the couch admiring the return of my living room, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I’d forgotten something. Then I looked over by the door, and…

There was my lunge whip. And both my dressage whips. With a spare set of rubber reins hanging from the coat hook.

I suspect the pizza guy wasn’t actually looking at the mess in the living room after all.

Tagged: Cleaning, Horses, Horses - Dexter, Horses - Ro, Horses - Super Saint, Tack & Equipment


Jane C. 29 May 2013

YES. So funny! And so true.  I was once at a halloween party where someone dressed as a…uh… okay let’s try that again. She was wearing leather, and had obviously borrowed a nice lunge whip with a new popper.

I had come as Dorothy from Kansas.  Very wholesome.

Leather Woman had already accidentally conked a few people, and was going to trip someone waving the whip around.

So naturally, I showed her how to use it properly. Thus embarrassing the crap out of my very gingham self and needing to leave immediately because I actually knew how to USE the whip. Which made everyone think exactly the wrong thing.

Horses, people.  HORSES.

Lauren 30 May 2013

Haha!  The delivery guy at my house is usually looking at my two crazy dogs who want to maul him for pizza.

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