Patient Update

A few friends have asked after Mathilda & it occurs to me that I have not given a full patient report in a while. If you saw Mathilda for the first time now, you’d be horrified. She’s skinny. She stands oddly. However, if you had seen her four months ago, you’d think she looks stellar. She’s skinny, but no longer starvation skinny. She stands oddly, but confidently. Throughout, her eyes have been up, her ears have been bright, and carrots have disappeared at an alarming rate.

She’s ready to go out on her own, for brief spells at least, but we keep putting it off. The first time I let her go, she made a beeline to Rodney for a flirt. The second time, she dropped for a roll [Back Story Debriefing]. Therefore, having misjudged twice, we are overcompensating by going too slowly. Oh, one more week of hand walks & we’ll try next weekend. Our brief attempt to give her limited turn-out [Forward] was abandoned when she made it clear that the accessible grass was not acceptable.

Our anxiety window for her has moved from daily to weekly, or even monthly. Barring miraculous recovery (& a more restrained attitude toward Rodney), she will need heavy care for the rest of her days. But she will have more days. To quote the Hermit of the Southern March, “I do not know whether any man or woman or beast in the whole world will be alive when the sun sets tonight. But be of good hope. The damsel is likely to live as long as any of her age.”[quote source]

We still stress. I dread keeping her warm in this winter. I am perplexed about creating a divided but sustainable turn-out regimen. Eventually, we will need to reach a less invasive status quo. For now, she remains The Mare Who Ate My Summer.

Rodney continues to be himself. No matter how many horse shows he is not taking me to, I cannot stay annoyed with him. He’s too sweet-natured. Five minutes of fussing on him, and I’m back to thinking he is adorable. Useless, but adorable. And gorgeous. Useless, adorable & gorgeous.
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Gratuitous Kitten Pics
Think one is a tight fit?

Try two.

Horse Dreams, Follow-up

Shortly after posting that I never ride in my dreams [Horse Dreams], I not only rode but jumped without stirrups. Odd because that is a skill I don’t have the real world. I was taking a nap after volunteering at the zoo [Serve]. Over-tired and dehydrated, I slept badly but fell asleep long enough to….

Be assigned a large, friendly chestnut. The saddle was shaped like a jumping saddle but padded like a dressage saddle. Also odd, because I prefer flat-style saddles for both. I object to being told what to do by a knee-roll. I asked if I ought to shorten my stirrups and the instructor decided to take them away. Possibly from seeing this picture a few days ago. Since I wasn’t wearing any shoes, I was able to wrap my legs around his middle. Definitely from reading this post before I fell asleep.

Once the tack was adjusted, the horse ambled off before I asked. Ordinarily I wouldn’t like that but he was so amenable I didn’t mind. He wandered over to a little white vertical in the corner. It was advertised as 3′ but wasn’t. Over we flowed. It was wonderful. How riding is supposed to be but rarely is, especially without stirrups.

When I went to get on for the second session, the horse had turned into a firetruck. Before I could climb aboard, the truck rolled off without me. This one’s easy. Our new, first-out engine starts moving as soon as you push the button (yes) for drive, even before you tap the gas. I hate that. I grabbed the back rung of a ladder much the way one might grab a horse’s tail. The truck kept going while the ladder telescoped open. The mind is a vast and weird place.

That night, I returned to sleeping well and having anxiety dreams. I wonder if a sleep quality/dream quality inverse relationship exists? Since I usually sleep like the dead, that would mean many more anxiety dreams in my future. Still, it was nice to have one shiny moment.

Your strangest horse dream?
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Gratuitous Cat Pic

Our laundry vulture glows in the dark.

The Secret Life of Horses

A while back, when Mathilda was young(er) and frisky(er), she fell down went boom. I heard a loud noise & happened to be in a room of the house that had a partial view into the run-in area. All I saw were a pair of ears far higher than ears should have been. By the time I ran to the barn, she was scrambling back up. No idea what happened. In unknown order, in unknown combination, we’d had an event, a noise, a spook, a rear, and a fall. She was fine. It occurred to me that if I hadn’t been home, she might have done something, been stiff in consequence, and we never would have known why.

Which is what makes diagnosing animals so difficult. We have no idea what they get up to and they aren’t going to tell us. All we can do is deal with the symptoms and extrapolate.

Let’s say Mathilda is a tiny bit wobblier, or a feeling a little punk. Did I graze her for too long yesterday? Was our walk too far? Or does it have nothing to do with us & she was a strumpet on parade all night [Blustery]? The world may never know.

Mystery animal events in your barn/house?
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

Speedy Cat Wash?

Monday Rant

Back in the Stone Age, when I was showing two horses and living what passed for my wild single life, I would go into work on Mondays, grab the cash box, crawl over to a chair in the corner, and collapse. My co-worker would come in, look and me and say, “Monday?” I would nod, and that would be my social interaction for several hours.

Many years later, I’m neither showing nor single, but I still don’t have the hang of Mondays [Manic, Less Manic]. This particular Monday*, I am annoyed. Specifically, I am annoyed with the “It could be worse” argument. I’m tired of hearing it. I’m tired of hearing friends apply it to themselves. I’m tired of hearing people apply it to me. I’m tired of hearing me applying it to myself.

It could be worse. Yes, but true to the point of meaninglessness. Unless you are a quadriplegic rape victim in a refuge camp in Darfur, it could always be worse. Unhappy with your life? Well, at least you’re not dying of cancer … , trying to feed a family of six with no job …, insert misery of the moment… I’m certainly thankful for all of that. I’m thankful that I can get out of bed in the morning with a reasonable expectation that no invading hordes are due over the horizon. Does that mean I should leap about spewing rainbows because I breath in and out? Don’t get me wrong. Breathing is one of my favorite activities.

Shouldn’t we be more than breathing machines? I don’t mean from time to time, for relaxation and meditation, as a commenter recommended [Spinning Wheels]. I mean as a life plan. Shouldn’t we strive to be more? More productive? More creative? More charitable? More accomplished? More useful to society? If we fail in those strivings, shouldn’t we be unhappy?

I have a lifelong dream dying over here. Aren’t I allowed to be a little bit cranky?

Question for the day: Does ranting help you or does it overly focus on the problem? Would it be better to move on with life or is that repression?
(*Ranted on Monday for Tuesday’s post. I’m a day ahead of myself. Or possibly a day behind. [Cinder])
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

How is this comfortable?