Hole in my head, hole in my head… I need an owner like her like a hole in my head

17 May 2011 5 Comments

Ro here.

Let me tell you something about the Lady Who Feeds.

She’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

This morning, Lady Who Feeds showed up out of the blue while I was munching my hay. She never shows up in the morning to ride, so I figured I was getting more food. Awesome possum.

But no. She leads me out of the stall and right by the truck that belongs to the Man Who Pokes and Prods. Not cool. Not cool at all.

They put me in the washrack and gave me one of those shots that makes me all sleepy and sweaty, which, really: yuck. And then stuff got quiet. A radio got turned off, and people walking by would be noisy, noisy, noisy… look at us all… and go by as quietly as possible. They’d look at me, then look away, and what, am I leper or something? Totally rude. Admire me, don’t ignore me.

But Lady Who Feeds was scratching my forehead, which I like, and then the Man Who Pokes and Prods was scratching my forehead, which was cool. And this is what I mean about Jekyll-and-Hyde, ok?—

Here they all are, telling me how awesome I am and scratching my forehead… and then they drilled a hole in my head. They drilled a farking hole in my head.

Not cool. So not cool.

Fortunately for all of them, by the time I realized what they were doing, the hole was drilled. They were all quiet again and not messing around with my head, so I took a few moments to contemplate my revenge… and suddenly the Man Who Pokes and Prods was fussing around my head and there were some weird, weird sensations going on. And then there was some nasty-tasting liquid coming out of my head, which I’m sure is not how things are supposed to go.

I started to make a fuss, but oddly, I just couldn’t be bothered to do too much. I still haven’t figured out why I didn’t kick them all to smithereens. That’s just not like me.

It seemed to go on forever, though, that nasty water dripping out of my head. While I was trying to figure out if I should spit it out or drink it, I kept half an ear on their conversation. They were talking about the size of my brain, and how small it is, and I’d just like to point out that I was not the one coming up with idiotic ideas like drilling holes in heads. What’s the point of having a big brain if you can’t recognize a stupid idea when you have one?

Then, thank god, it was all over and the Man Who Pokes and Prods stapled up my head, like I’m some sort of school assignment, and the Lady Who Feeds took me back to my stall. I admit I was looking forward to munching on some hay while I contemplated my revenge, but she did the unthinkable—she took away my hay. Pure evil.

But for the next hour, she kept coming by and telling me how awesome I was, with lots of scratches, and eventually she came to her senses and gave me back my hay, which was awesome. I was thinking, hey, she’s back to reasonable again. Life is good.

And then—as if I hadn’t been through enough—The Guy Who Messes With My Hooves showed up. Honestly. Do they have no compassion?

I got a hole drilled in my head in the morning, and now they wanted me to stand and let him mess with my feet? I let them know just what I thought about that, but they had no sense of humor. That’s ok. There’s a time and place for revenge. The Guy probably isn’t to blame here. I’m sure it’s Lady Who Feeds.

About the time my tail hairs were starting to turn black with resentment, they finished. I got to go chill out in my stall for a bit, which was probably good for them. And after a bit, Lady Who Feeds came back… again… but this time we just went for a long, long hand walk with a little trotting. I was good with that, actually. It was nice to be out and moving around, especially since Lady Who Feeds more or less let me pick the pace and didn’t get too pushy about how fast or slow we were going.

I halfway expected her to try something stupid when we went back to my stall, like tacking me up, but she appears to have gotten over her evil side. She fed me lunch and then left me alone with my hay for the rest of the day. Finally.

But really—what was the point of all this? In the morning, I’m happily munching on hay. In the afternoon, I’m happily munching on hay. We could have done without all the stuff in the middle, you know?

Horses and Riding, Horses I Have Known, Ro

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