It occurred to me this past weekend that some of my best inspirations for this blog come during the idyllic hours I spend shoveling horse pookie. Coincidence? I think not.
Shoveling right along... Last Thursday I took myself off to whine country once again. I was to spend two days playing horse mom. The real mom had gone off to play with the rich and famous in Temecula for another horse show. She called me Thursday night, but really couldn't talk because she was at a fabulous dinner with fabulous friends. I don't know if she did that just to rub it in that I was eating deli take-out... alone whilst she and her cronies were at a smart dinner together, or not. sigh.
Squidgy Rides! Yep. So the fabulous horse show mom instructed me to ride her new horse the beloved Kilo. You have met Kilo in previous editions...OTTTB etc. etc. etc. OK then. Well of course I queried fabulous horse show mom (FHSM) if I should lunge the OTTTB to get the bucks and other vile behavior out of his system. To which FHSM replied, "Oh just get on him and ride." Well OK then. Cast your memory back to a couple episodes ago when I mentioned I wasn't in the shape I wanted to be. A scant five weeks have passed since then, and while I do go to the gym religiously (snort if you like) I've certainly not reached my ideal, and impossible goal yet. In any case it had been many, many years since I threw my leg over the back of a TB and I was sceptical of the whole idea.
Nevertheless, since I have Kaiser Insurance I bravely just got on him and rode! And loved every minute. Some of that was due to the fact that I was in my own saddle which is perfect in every way, but mostly because the beast had, what is known in the industry, a good work ethic. Yeah me. So anyway I rode for about 30 minutes partly because it was bloody hot, but mostly because Kilo had once again thrown his version of a Manolo Blahnik and the bang up job I'd done bandaging his foot only lasted so long. So that was all well and good and I was feeling all cheery and what not and foolishly expected FHSM to ring up and ask if I was alive and what ever - but she did not. Hmmm. Well anyway I re wrapped the foot and put Kilo to night night and called Shirley and said I wanted a horse just like Kilo only one that keeps his shoes on and we had a fine time slamming various farriers we've known and praising the one we loved and who are good and that was a fine time.
Round about nine o'clock FHSM texted me. What follows is a verbatim transcript of that conversation.
FHSM: How was Kilo?
Squidgy: Lovely
FHSM: Really? (like she thought I was being sarcastic or in traction or something...) >:-(
Squidgy: I love him
FHSM: sends blank text, probably in shock or something. >:-(
Then FHSM called up (remember I said she called?) OK so I figured she just called to ascertain it really was yours truly texting away and not some trauma doc. having a go. But as I said she could only talk for a second since she had more fabulous things to do now that I seemed to be alive.
Just for grins I rode Kilo the following day as well. Then I waited for the farrier to come put on the Manolo Blahnik. And waited andwaitedanwaited...Well you'd a thought someone coulda told me he'd come while I was up at the house taking a shower wouldn't you? So I waited for an hour and a half and then discovered he'd come and gone and I had played 5000 games of Mah Jong sitting in my car for no reason other than I should have just checked. fizzle
I high tailed it outta there because, as promised, Squidgy had another gig for Saturday and Sunday! Will wonders never cease. So anyway as I said I took myself off for gig II and presented myself to my new employers who were thrilled to death to see me, gave me a drink and we settled in for an evening of debauchery with the demon spirits.
Well as is their custom, the new employers arose from their slumber at the very b*** crack of dawn, and made sufficient noise as to awake yours truly, who does not welcome the dawn the same as these half wits. But I'd promised, in my incoherence the previous night, to arise with the chickens and them and get a quick run through as to what needed to be done to and for the six horses remaining at home while six other horses went off to go schooling cross country jumps in Paso Robles. So I made some kind of attempt to appear if not awake, then not completely asleep either. And Shirley rattled on a mile a minute with what to with this and that and the the other thing. And I smiled and nodded and wondered WTF any of it meant and they loaded the horses into the trailer and loaded themselves in to the truck and off they went. And I sat down and considered the ramifications of a nap.
However, I am nothing if not a consummate professional and I decided to try to recall what "she" had said and managed to remember there was something about doing the stalls. All nine or five thousand of them, at this point it really didn't matter now did it? So I breezed through them, again with that fitness thing, then took stock of the stock (hahaha I am still funny)
Then I remembered that three of the horses were leaving to go to new homes. And that various shippers would be calling to let me know of their imminent arrival and I had no recollection of who was going with who and when and any of that nonsense. So I called Shirley and said, "who's going with who and when?" So that got sorted out and sometime later the first shipper arrived to take Pearl with him to WA and I was Johnny on the Spot with that and met him at the gate with the correct horse and he parked his 18 wheeler in front of me and released the air brake or whatever the hell that thing is that hisses and pops and generally gave me a heart attack and Pearl leaped in the air and we then stood and stared as transport guy got out of the cab and pulled up his slinky gym shorts and made his way to us. I smiled. He smiled, and we agreed that this was the horse he was taking and he began the ritual of bringing down the ramp from the trailer, the top of which was up higher than my 5'6", placed the flimsy sides on the ramp, which give the illusion of barriers but in fact just sat there waving in the breeze, then down came the carpet and we were ready for Pearl to get in the trailer. Except we weren't because transport guy had to pull his shorts up. again. This time I was treated to more of the pair-o-moons than anyone had any right to see. So then we were ready and the horse went in, the shorts came down, I stared in horror, the shorts did not come up, I turned away and scanned my memory for what Emily Post said to do in these cases, discovered Emily Post would never have put herself in that position in the first place and gave it all up as a bad job and just got the hell out of the trailer. But transport guy with white, hairy moons was not done with me yet. Oh no. He was a commercial shipper so now I had to answer his questions that he had to commit to paper as to the horses name?...uh Pearl. Where it was going? Washington somewhere I think. New owner? I knew that. THEN I had to man up and sign the receipt. Great. So I did. Then transport guy pulled up his pants again, I said ta ta and safe trip and all that baloney and went back to the house, put my now filthy clothes in the washer and went back to bed. Not a bad way to make a living is it?
Later that afternoon I arose and since I don't wake up that easily after sufficient sleep either, I stumbled around for awhile, then made my way back to the barn and did the afternoon chores which were easy breezy and feeling pretty please with myself, settled in to wait for shipper #2 to come pick up the next two horses. Happily, and thankfully, this one had on jeans and a belt so we didn't have any of "those" issues. And he was very proud of his new trailer so we spent some time applauding it's various features, then I loaded the horses, he closed the door and off they went. Only three horses left...
So the next day came and I had to get my own lazy self up at the b*** crack of dawn, which I did rather more alertly since I'd not imbibed of the demon rum the night before and I got all the morning chores done then made nice with the horses who were left. Considered riding, and let it go. Then I decided to groom one of the horses. Which I did and considering I used only elbow grease and Show Sheen did a pretty good job of that as well. And feeling rather smug, went back to the house for another cup of coffee. Then Shirley called and said they were on their way home and I could leave if I wanted. Since I already had the check I did just that.
And now this:
Oh for crying out loud. Are you serious here? Whine country mom just rang up to hire yours truly for another episode at her casa. Evidently I am such a great friend, that now she is entrusting the life and welfare of her only son to my care. I mean really? Many of you know me. I'm sorry about that, but in any case...would you trust me with your child? That's what I thought. So the conversation went something like this:
WCM: I have to go on a camping field trip with my daughter on Weds, Thurs and will be back Friday. Can you stay?
Squidgy: Sure
WCM: Oh and by the way, little Alphonse (pseudonym) will be there and you'll need to drive him to school. Thanks man.
Squidgy: Are you serious?
WCM: Thanks man.
Squidgy: OK, are you insane?
WCM: You'll be fine,
Squidgy: Do I have to cook and all that too?
WCM: Yup
Squidgy: Perhaps I'll just call Child Protective Services now shall I?
WCM: I told him he has to buy hot lunch so you don't have to make lunches.
Squidgy: I always made my kids buy hot lunch. They learned to make their own lunches pretty early on. I hate making lunches. Hate it.
WCM: OK
Squidgy: You better have provisions, I'm not spending my wages feeding real meals.
WCM: Oh, and Holly will be there too!
Squidgy: What is wrong with you? Why would you do that?
WCM: You can leave on Friday...:-}
Squidgy: I hate you.
WCM: Love you man. Thanks
Squidgy: fizzle
Heavy sigh. I leave Wednesday for new gig as nanny to the rich and famous. Expecting a call from the father as he is a faithful reader. My life sux.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Monday, April 4, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
really? It's meant to snow and storm all weekend. Mountains?
As you may have gleaned from the title, something happened that involved all of the above and so much more. Let me enlighten you.
Snow bound/horseshow bound mom rang up the other day and said she wanted to take the urchins to the snow for the weekend and would I come over and stay for the weekend? Just Friday and Saturday and come home on Sunday. And she would have the stall cleaner guy come in on Saturday to do the stalls in the morning, but sorry I would be on my own on Saturday night and Sunday. Well, ok, since Steve has decided he must never have a day off from work I figured I might as well go to a beautiful part of the state and get my horse fix. Off I went. In the pouring down rain.
Now for those of you in Outer Mongolia, when it rains and is cold it usually means that it is snowing and freezing in the Sierra Mountains. All that is a natural nature sort of deal, but with it comes the purely outrageous phenomenen of jerkism on wheels. Jerkism drivers are around everywhere, but their appearances in times of vile driving conditions are horrible. They prove themselves by driving way too fast or slow and generally make your life miserable by doing stupid stuff in their BMW's or Cadillacs. For whatever reason these are the autos of choice to be a real jerk in the show. Like you've spent way too much money on your car to be bothered with the Golden Rule and what not. If you have one of the above cars and do not consider yourself a jerkism driver, ask yourself these questions. 1. Do you drive fast enough for everyone? 2. Do you keep your ski rack on your car in the summer? 3. Do you pass erratically on blind turns then brake suddenly? 4. Do you plant your 35 mph self in the fast lane at all times? A yes to any of the above qualifies you to be a jerkism driver. Get a grip.
Anyway, as I was saying it was raining as I made way to wine (whine) country and I found myself thinking that driving up to the mountain to a snug get away in the snow sounded insane. Cast your memory to the tale of the Donner Party... Happily, snow bunny mom is insane at times and after assuring me it would all be fine, piled herself and the offspring into the car and zoomed off. Uh yup. So she made it as far as the beaucolic town of Colfax, which is roughly two hours over and up the road. In the middle of gold country. And, yup you guessed it, some jerkism driver had managed to create a real fuster cluck and the roads were closed and everyone was being turned around, even snow bunny mom with 4WD. Yup. Turned back and too far to go home and outnumbered by the cops to go forward. Meanwhile I was at the casa thinking neener neener, and I told you so, neener neener. And because I have these moments I naturally assumed that snow bunny mom would cede to defeat and bring her self home and try again another day since it was forcasted to storm and snow and blow and be generally unpleasant all weekend. Well what on earth was I smoking? Snow bunny mom returned to the roadways in the a.m. and proceeded up the highway to the snug get away in the snow. Really? And immediately got herself snowed in with no way home till Monday at the earliest. Good job she had such valuable and reliable and flexible help at home wasn't it? You betcha.
While it was snowing and blowing in the mountains, it was raining and blowing in the flat lands. And while the chill factor was negligible to the Sierras, wet and cold is still objectionable. And after that huge build up, that is the worst that happened to me all weekend. Except for the part when I took myself off to Santa Rosa to visit REI, and then off to Petaluma to visit Shirley. And all that was good fun and I didn't get lost or anything except for trying to out guess my phone navigation system and earned an impressive 95% fail rate of being in the correct lane for turning one way or the other. Fizzle. At any rate, I did manage to find my way to both sites I planned to visit. Then I programmed the phone navigation system to take me back from whence I came. Demons live in the nav. system of my inappropriately named "Ally". As I was saying it was storming and there were even jerkism drivers here as well, and I blindly followed the little voice in my phone through roads I never knew existed through areas that should have been closed to traffic and in a hair raising hour later I found my way back to casa drenched and in a bit of a foul temper. Just a bit.
I took my withered self down to the barn to clean up the messes the horses had made in their rooms and trudged through the much and mire to dump their messes in the pile outside which meant getting wet and thoroughly disgruntled. Then I fed their greedy, self involved selves their evening nosh, put their jammies on and bid them goodnight. huffily.
On the up side Steve had made his appearance at Casa snow bunny, and we went off to the local pub for burgers and vodka. The local pub is everything you could hope for in a local watering hole. Lot's of locals, generous drinkies and good food. They even had the little hooks on the underside of the bar top from which you can hang your coat or purse and settle in for a long evening of imbibery and a viewing of local color. It was a perfect ending to a bleak and dreary day.
Sunday morning came a little too early for my liking. And a barn full of messy horse stalls and messy, hungry, restless horses awaited my attention. Some days you think you will never get everything done. You work and work and still there are more things to do. This was one of those days. To make it worse the wall clock in the barn is impossible to reset to accomodate the time change we experienced a week ago (Hallelujah Brothers) so I just couldn't sort it out in my mind and I kept thinking I was getting a lot done since I'd left the house at 7: 30 by the clock on the microwave, which had been reset, and then arrived at the barn and milled around doing stuff for what seemed like hours and hours untill I glanced at the clock and saw that only one hour had passed since I left the house. And so I fooled myself into thinking that I was really setting a blistering pace until at last I was done and realized the barn clock time was an hour behind the real time and in fact I was slower than molasses. In my defense I did get all the horses turned out in rotation so they could soak up some rain intermixed with inextricable moments of blinding sun. And even rain in the sun and it was mystical and surreal. And what ever. I limped back up to the house after the morning exertions and collapsed on the couch with the Jack Russells and yes, the Great Dane and everyone muscled each other around to gain the prime nesting spot on the sofa and settled in for a much needed spot of nap. Well the Great Dane didn't get the couch because she is the size of the couch, but she paced endlessly back and forth swabbing my face with her tongue on each pass to assure that I didn't actually reach nirvana and so it went for a good long time.
I arose after my face had been thoroughly drenched, and in the audience of the caged rat took a shower and prepared myself to go on another outing since there were now periods of bright sun interspersed with some rain, but nothing like the day before. My mission was to find a wheel for the rat. The rat is named Jerry. It is gray and has a white spot on its tummy and is pretty cute for a rat. I don't mind rats and mice if they aren't trying to scare the ever living life out of you by doing the rodent leap at your person from a dark corner. So anyway the rat didn't have wheel and I just can't get my head around the fact that caged rats should have a cardio wheel so there you are. And I found myself back in Petaluma looking for a pet store that was open on Sunday and had a rat department. And I was successful and I ignored the voice in my phone and made my way back to the rancho without any drama. If I could have managed a happy dance, then this would have indeed been the time to perform it.
I'll spare you the drudgery of evening chores, but they were performed in a satisfactory time and manner. And I was able to go off to the local market for an opportunity to select a nourishing repast from the deli, went back up to the house and settled in for an evening with David Tutera on "My Fair Wedding". And since the snow bunny was snowed in I turned the heat way up to 62 degrees and curled up under a load of blankets and dogs and zoned the evening away.
Monday morning Gil arrived to clean the stalls and I fed the horses and escaped to the house after that and drank coffee and surfed the internet till I felt I could face the day. I went back to the barn and lunged some horses and ponies and turned others out, and talked to snow bunny on the phone and ascertained that she was going to come home at last and she did and we had a good ole time recounting our various adventures and generally had a good time especially since the farrier came (a different one from the one before if you are a faithful reader) and we played who do you know for awhile and examined some horse feet and hemmed and hawed for a time. Later a child came over to take a lesson on the pony I had lunged and bathed earlier in the day. And finally all the chores were done, and the mother and I went back to the house and had a "Hot Apple Pie" concoction which contains hot apple cider and Tuaca. A few of those will do some real damage should you be so inclined to drink too many. I resisted temptation to drink myself senseless and drove home to Steve and a little din din at the local Taqueria and that was that.
Snow Bunny mom turns back into Horse Show Mom next Wednesday, and I shall make my way back to casa costa lotta for another few days of horse stuff, but Gil will be there to do the stalls, because I haven't really improved my stall cleaning times, that will be a good thing. And we'll just carry on from there. And if anything interesting happens I will regale you with tales of the stay.
Squidgy may have another house/horse sitting gig in the works. This too may provide fodder for blogging, so stay tuned for more adventures.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Squidgy gets another job...unbelievable.
The ski bound mother of several episodes ago called and requested my help at her place whilst she took herself off to Twin Rivers in central California for a horse trials. With her were going the offspring she whelped and two of the now three ponies currently in residence. Because there was now no cat, the danger of any animals finding themselves in mortal peril seemed to be Nil. I'll stop right here at firmly state, that 1. I didn't kill the cat and 2. Nothing died that shouldn't have.
So the "now renamed horse show mother" requested my appearance the night before she planned to leave so she could get me up to speed with the news that there would be four horses and one pony that needed my attention. Two of those horses required actual hand walking and care. One of them had colicked earlier that week, and prior to that had managed to damage itself from being alone and tried to jump some unattainable height over a fence in a pasture not meant for jumping and had a litany of injuries and maladies that will bore you stupid and it doesn't matter anyway. The other one was recovering from a bad tendon and had realized that he was on the mend and the danger of having to go back to work was imminent so he managed to incubate an abscess in his right front foot. The abscess info. will just have to wait for a time when I can give it the spot light it deserves. Just know that they are crippling, involve farriers and vets and $$ and a really unreasonable amount of care and time.
Lemme tell you something. Hand walking horses is not that much fun. God invented Euro-cisers for a reason and that reason is that horses have very little regard for the insignificant human gamely holding on the rope which is attached to a head collar which is meant to give the illusion of control when handling horses. Allow me to state, categorically, that if a horse decides to be afraid, has a tantrum, insists on a different direction at a different and much accelerated speed you have no chance at all of maintaining any control at all. Period. Now you can employ the use of chains and all the other devices meant to give you the upper hand, but should the notion cross the mind of a beast weighing over a thousand pounds and said beast has the brain the size of a walnut...well just accept you are toast. Anyway. While the reasons for hand walking are many, for our purposes, the horses needed hand walking because (wait for it) that was the only exercise they were allowed! Imagine the possibilities. For perspective, imagine you have spent months and months and months getting yourself in shape; you have worked out for hours a day - every day and you have muscles rippling and your coat is shiny and you can have all the food you want as long as it's what ever the current fad is for feeding and you are full of energy and are raring to go. Then let's imagine that you sprain your ankle, or your hamstring, or quad or something that makes you limp. Suddenly you locked in a 12 x 12 stall with no activity at all except for twice a day when some idiot shows up to take you for walkies. um um um Using your human imagination visualize a kite on a string or a run away train...you get the idea. So anyway as I was saying hand walking = no bueno. And yours truly had not one but two to contend with.
Now that I've regaled you with what can happen let me just pop the bubble and tell you that both horses were pretty good and marched around the arena with me 500 times each twice a day and the worst that happened was when the Great Dane involved herself in the walkies and encouraged the bad jumper to just move along a little more vigorously by jumping up and down and snapping at the heels. Really such rudeness. The Great Dane then was locked in a stall. Bad dog. Sorry but that's about it for the walkies bit of the weekend.
Two more horses...One had just been racing her little heart out at a track in southern California only the previous week and needed some "down" time. Racehorses are made fit to race others of its kind for many furlongs and trained to come out in first. And this involves a lot of speed work and high energy feed and little else. So when a race horse is through racing, it needs a little time or a lifetime to unwind. Essentially it needs to learn that it won't have to run like mad every time it comes out of it's stall and that it can learn another job. So it just has to chill. Part of that regime may include being turned out. You know all those pastures of emerald green with miles and miles of board fencing and all the mares and babies that are turned out together to romp and gambol? Fantasy. Well for the most part. I've seen those fields and they are in Kentucky. And they belong to Sheiks and stuff. Anyway your new off the track thoroughbred (OTTTB) will likely not have seen a pasture since it was a yearling because it will have been in training to run and run and run. And when it is not running it is standing in a stall. And it may be slightly crazy. So now you have this horse and you turn it out and it goes nuts. If it doesn't damage itself, it will scare the ever living daylights out of you if you go anywhere near it. It will run and buck and rear and spin and charge and generally make an ass out of itself, but it still out weighs you and it still has a teeny tiny brain so you have to be mindful of these things and hope someday it will tire and you can put it in a stall until the next time. Happily this new horse did none of those things and just calmly walked out, waited while I took the halter off and politely walked away and then rolled in the mud. Sweet little thing.
The last horse belonged to the horse show mother. And he too was off the track, but was a little further along in his rehab. and could be ridden and worked on the lunge line. But he had some little quirks like biting and kicking and weaving. Weaving you say? Like with a loom and what not? No, I say, not like that at all. More like dancing. But usually only with the front legs. So the horse stands and then begins to shift his weight from one front leg to the other in a rhythm. The really good ones cross their legs and never break the tempo. It's annoying. So anyway this horse had all those fun traits, but I like him anyway and since my fitness isn't what I'd like it to be yet, I opted to lunge him. His name is Kilo. He's gray. Lunging. So you put some sort of a device be it a halter or a bridle on the horse (a bridle is what I used) then you thread a long rope through the rings of the bit over the head and attach it to the other side of the bit with a snap. I also used a surcingle which is a strap which goes on the back and buckles like a girth. It has lots of rings and doo dads on it that you can attach stuff to that also attaches to the bit or what ever and give you slightly more control and makes the horse work in a frame that you'd like to adopt whilst you are riding. So then you, the horse and this load of equipment will make your way to the lunging area and the horse will go around in circles with you in the middle holding on the of the rope. You will ask the horse to walk, trot and canter for hours and hours, or so it will seem while you dizzy yourself in the middle. And that's about it. Of course being a horse the opportunity will present itself to misbehave and kicking out a you, turning in on you and just plain breaking away from you will occur. Not too much you can do about that except constant vigilance.
And finally we have the pony. Ponies are smaller that horses, no surprise there. This also means they need smaller girths, bridles and the like. But most of all if you plan to ride one it is a good idea to have a bridle and a girth that fit so you don't endanger yourself any more than necessary. Happily the pony in question had a bridle. Not so happily there wasn't a girth in the joint that was small enough for it. So what I had to do was put about 400 saddle pads under the saddle and find the shortest girth I could and then cautiously hop on board and balance like I was walking on a mattress. So you may think that riding is just sitting while you are taken for a ride. Well the taken for a ride bit is true, but there is a bit of motion too. And while I was perched on top of 400 saddle pads, the saddle itself was just not tight enough to minimize the sway. So I tried to stay in the middle, stayed on and the pony was exercised and I dropped my cell phone somewhere in the process and the event was over...for the day. And that was Thursday and I repeated all the above for the next two days. And it was good. And I got paid. And I didn't kill anything, or lose anything.
Friday night I went to dinner with horse show moms parents. It's so rewarding to spend a couple hours with your friends parents. You get a lot of ammunition for one thing and then you get a lot of insight as well. Lemme tell you something horse show mom, I know things you don't even want me to know now. What a heady feeling of power.
Cheers,
Squidgy
So the "now renamed horse show mother" requested my appearance the night before she planned to leave so she could get me up to speed with the news that there would be four horses and one pony that needed my attention. Two of those horses required actual hand walking and care. One of them had colicked earlier that week, and prior to that had managed to damage itself from being alone and tried to jump some unattainable height over a fence in a pasture not meant for jumping and had a litany of injuries and maladies that will bore you stupid and it doesn't matter anyway. The other one was recovering from a bad tendon and had realized that he was on the mend and the danger of having to go back to work was imminent so he managed to incubate an abscess in his right front foot. The abscess info. will just have to wait for a time when I can give it the spot light it deserves. Just know that they are crippling, involve farriers and vets and $$ and a really unreasonable amount of care and time.
Lemme tell you something. Hand walking horses is not that much fun. God invented Euro-cisers for a reason and that reason is that horses have very little regard for the insignificant human gamely holding on the rope which is attached to a head collar which is meant to give the illusion of control when handling horses. Allow me to state, categorically, that if a horse decides to be afraid, has a tantrum, insists on a different direction at a different and much accelerated speed you have no chance at all of maintaining any control at all. Period. Now you can employ the use of chains and all the other devices meant to give you the upper hand, but should the notion cross the mind of a beast weighing over a thousand pounds and said beast has the brain the size of a walnut...well just accept you are toast. Anyway. While the reasons for hand walking are many, for our purposes, the horses needed hand walking because (wait for it) that was the only exercise they were allowed! Imagine the possibilities. For perspective, imagine you have spent months and months and months getting yourself in shape; you have worked out for hours a day - every day and you have muscles rippling and your coat is shiny and you can have all the food you want as long as it's what ever the current fad is for feeding and you are full of energy and are raring to go. Then let's imagine that you sprain your ankle, or your hamstring, or quad or something that makes you limp. Suddenly you locked in a 12 x 12 stall with no activity at all except for twice a day when some idiot shows up to take you for walkies. um um um Using your human imagination visualize a kite on a string or a run away train...you get the idea. So anyway as I was saying hand walking = no bueno. And yours truly had not one but two to contend with.
Now that I've regaled you with what can happen let me just pop the bubble and tell you that both horses were pretty good and marched around the arena with me 500 times each twice a day and the worst that happened was when the Great Dane involved herself in the walkies and encouraged the bad jumper to just move along a little more vigorously by jumping up and down and snapping at the heels. Really such rudeness. The Great Dane then was locked in a stall. Bad dog. Sorry but that's about it for the walkies bit of the weekend.
Two more horses...One had just been racing her little heart out at a track in southern California only the previous week and needed some "down" time. Racehorses are made fit to race others of its kind for many furlongs and trained to come out in first. And this involves a lot of speed work and high energy feed and little else. So when a race horse is through racing, it needs a little time or a lifetime to unwind. Essentially it needs to learn that it won't have to run like mad every time it comes out of it's stall and that it can learn another job. So it just has to chill. Part of that regime may include being turned out. You know all those pastures of emerald green with miles and miles of board fencing and all the mares and babies that are turned out together to romp and gambol? Fantasy. Well for the most part. I've seen those fields and they are in Kentucky. And they belong to Sheiks and stuff. Anyway your new off the track thoroughbred (OTTTB) will likely not have seen a pasture since it was a yearling because it will have been in training to run and run and run. And when it is not running it is standing in a stall. And it may be slightly crazy. So now you have this horse and you turn it out and it goes nuts. If it doesn't damage itself, it will scare the ever living daylights out of you if you go anywhere near it. It will run and buck and rear and spin and charge and generally make an ass out of itself, but it still out weighs you and it still has a teeny tiny brain so you have to be mindful of these things and hope someday it will tire and you can put it in a stall until the next time. Happily this new horse did none of those things and just calmly walked out, waited while I took the halter off and politely walked away and then rolled in the mud. Sweet little thing.
The last horse belonged to the horse show mother. And he too was off the track, but was a little further along in his rehab. and could be ridden and worked on the lunge line. But he had some little quirks like biting and kicking and weaving. Weaving you say? Like with a loom and what not? No, I say, not like that at all. More like dancing. But usually only with the front legs. So the horse stands and then begins to shift his weight from one front leg to the other in a rhythm. The really good ones cross their legs and never break the tempo. It's annoying. So anyway this horse had all those fun traits, but I like him anyway and since my fitness isn't what I'd like it to be yet, I opted to lunge him. His name is Kilo. He's gray. Lunging. So you put some sort of a device be it a halter or a bridle on the horse (a bridle is what I used) then you thread a long rope through the rings of the bit over the head and attach it to the other side of the bit with a snap. I also used a surcingle which is a strap which goes on the back and buckles like a girth. It has lots of rings and doo dads on it that you can attach stuff to that also attaches to the bit or what ever and give you slightly more control and makes the horse work in a frame that you'd like to adopt whilst you are riding. So then you, the horse and this load of equipment will make your way to the lunging area and the horse will go around in circles with you in the middle holding on the of the rope. You will ask the horse to walk, trot and canter for hours and hours, or so it will seem while you dizzy yourself in the middle. And that's about it. Of course being a horse the opportunity will present itself to misbehave and kicking out a you, turning in on you and just plain breaking away from you will occur. Not too much you can do about that except constant vigilance.
And finally we have the pony. Ponies are smaller that horses, no surprise there. This also means they need smaller girths, bridles and the like. But most of all if you plan to ride one it is a good idea to have a bridle and a girth that fit so you don't endanger yourself any more than necessary. Happily the pony in question had a bridle. Not so happily there wasn't a girth in the joint that was small enough for it. So what I had to do was put about 400 saddle pads under the saddle and find the shortest girth I could and then cautiously hop on board and balance like I was walking on a mattress. So you may think that riding is just sitting while you are taken for a ride. Well the taken for a ride bit is true, but there is a bit of motion too. And while I was perched on top of 400 saddle pads, the saddle itself was just not tight enough to minimize the sway. So I tried to stay in the middle, stayed on and the pony was exercised and I dropped my cell phone somewhere in the process and the event was over...for the day. And that was Thursday and I repeated all the above for the next two days. And it was good. And I got paid. And I didn't kill anything, or lose anything.
Friday night I went to dinner with horse show moms parents. It's so rewarding to spend a couple hours with your friends parents. You get a lot of ammunition for one thing and then you get a lot of insight as well. Lemme tell you something horse show mom, I know things you don't even want me to know now. What a heady feeling of power.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Sunday, February 27, 2011
O.M.G.
When we last met I was about to begin my sojurn in to the world of fitness. I've been pretty good. That is to say one day I walked to the gym and rode the bike for five minutes more than before, walked home, remembered I'd left my house keys at the gym, walked back, picked up the keys walked home, then walked to the mailbox thingy down the street, walked back and then pushed the ghetto manuel lawn mower, that Steve thought would be perfect for our purposes, around for awhile then collapsed on the couch virtually unconscious for several hours, coming to for pathetic nibbles of chocolate only to collapse again...And again...And again. If you will review your notes, you'll find that the ultimate expectation of the exercise regime was to be able to eat as much chocolate as I wanted. I don't believe the offset balances are tipping towards the losing side yet. Seeing how the next day it was raining I drove to the gym and rode the bike again for another five minutes longer than before and drove home and pushed the vacuum around for a very long time. A very long time because of the horrid dogs who with all their myriad of other sins also shed...copiously. Not as bad as my friend Chris's dogs who in one swipe turned my chic black jeans to a costume worthy of Chewbaca, but pretty bad nonetheless. So here we were on to Wednesday and now the dreaded second of my two free assessments of body awareness. The same bionic academy grad. took me through my paces. First a light warm up session on the bike, not. Then a wonderland worthy trip through the weight room and all the various instruments of torture that lurked there. To make a long story short(er), bionic woman (loosely interpreted) had designed a routine for me that variously and completely wore out every muscle group in this hereto for placid body. I have to do leg presses, chest presses, leg extensions (single leg & both) the row machine, straight leg (appropriately named) dead lifts with dumb bells, also appropriately named, abdominal crunches, hip adductions and abductions and the tricep extension machine thing. All in all from one point to another I will lift or push or pull over 800 pounds per session. If I count correctly. Sometimes that is hard if blood is coming out your eyes. Or if you are pathetic. Or if there is a gross, ugly, fat guy with way to much crackage and body hair following you around your routine. But that would never happen...would it?
I'm trying to sell my cross country saddle. I love the saddle, but I'm not sure I need it and I love my regular jump saddle. Now those of you who don't ride, and even some of you who do are wondering WTF do you need two saddles for jumping? Well I thought I did, and I did use the cross country saddle when I competed or schooled cross country and now since I don't have a horse to put it on, it sits atop the sewing machine cover and I think perhaps I will sell it. And get my hair cut with the proceeds. Anyway, the saddle is for sale and I had the opportunity to take it to Berekely last week to loan it out for trial. Now I'm asking a pretty fair price for the saddle but in 1974, we bought a car for what I want for it and took three years to pay it off. So it was a bit of a sticky wicket as to how to loan the saddle to someone I didn't know. I thought it would be a good idea to get a cashiers check, but the lady reminded me that that would be just like having cash. ?? No problem from my side, but since on the other hand she didn't know me either, she thought perhaps a little security for her was in order. Even though she had the saddle. Whatev. So I ended up calling a friend of her trainer and getting a personal endorsement, took a personal check from her and then took myself off to lunch with the daughter of Steve. To celebrate my big sale and business acumen we doodled around and shopped a bit and got our brows done and looking much fresher and younger we went our separate ways she to the land of booklearning and me to my new routine at the g.y.m..
As fate would have it the saddle did not fit the girl so I had another opportunity to drive to Berekely on Friday to pick it up. Had no lunch and zoomed back home after a brief respite at R.E.I. to salivate over an ArcTeryx jacket that I now could not afford since I had to give the check back. Manned up and left to go home and mope and then drive to the gym, (I was short on time) work out on the treadmill (a new aspect to fitness) AND the bike then shakily drive home only to leave again to go pick up grandson and carpool at snooty academy in Sacramento and ferry them back to Woodland where they were deposited at their various places of drop off and then waited patiently at my daughters house for her to come home and feed me wine. She was late.
Now I store a ton of horse and stable stuff at the daughter and son-in-laws place in one of (many) barns they have around. So I took the opportunity to go down and look through it all. There's a lot of stuff down there. Buckets, blankets, dressage earrings, whips, trunks, ribbons, 4270 hair nets, hoses, folding chairs, mats, boots, bits and helmets. I think I need to get more stuff to put the stuff in. I think thats how I ended up in this mess to begin with. I've given (forced) a lot of stuff to other people, well to one person, but she really needs to get over here and pick through the stuff to get more. Steve is no help at.all. He has a coat that hasn't been on his back since the 90's and a tuba that we have to haul around every few years and a trailer, yes a trailer full of c.r.a.p. that he hasn't looked at since 2003, but still thinks he has the right to tell me to get rid of my stuff. I say heal thyself. Not sure where this was going, but there you have it. If you need stuff you might want to call. I probably have it. Except I don't have the velcro EZBoot, but that is easily remedied. But please call too, if you want, and have to have a cross country saddle. Mint condition.
In a few short minutes from now I will have to get all gussied up to appear at Macys for three and a half hours shift of selling jewelry. It will take me easily an hour plus to get ready, for obvious reasons, not the least of which means slathering on cosmetics to try to make myself look kind of alive. And since tonight are the academy awards and everyone in Fairfield will have already bought their gems for the event, I will probably be alone in the jewelry tombs for the evening. I get to go back tomorrow as well. What's up with this? Since the first of the year I have worked one shift and that was a couple weeks ago and now I have to work two days in a row? What will this do my tax bracket? Some people are just not very understanding are they? Those of you who actually work all the time will not understand at all. You see I have a pretty nice life. I work sometimes, as you know, and I write this drivel, and I boss my husband around, to no avail, I torture my children and their spouses and have a healthy scrabble tournament going on on FaceBook, at which it enrages me to lose so I try not to, and every now and then we go to fabulous places like Fresno. So I really shouldn't whine about getting all pouffed and powdered to go work for three and a half hours, except there is no break. Break? Really? But there you have it. I'm spoiled. And life is better for it.
Amen,
Cheers,
Squidgy
I'm trying to sell my cross country saddle. I love the saddle, but I'm not sure I need it and I love my regular jump saddle. Now those of you who don't ride, and even some of you who do are wondering WTF do you need two saddles for jumping? Well I thought I did, and I did use the cross country saddle when I competed or schooled cross country and now since I don't have a horse to put it on, it sits atop the sewing machine cover and I think perhaps I will sell it. And get my hair cut with the proceeds. Anyway, the saddle is for sale and I had the opportunity to take it to Berekely last week to loan it out for trial. Now I'm asking a pretty fair price for the saddle but in 1974, we bought a car for what I want for it and took three years to pay it off. So it was a bit of a sticky wicket as to how to loan the saddle to someone I didn't know. I thought it would be a good idea to get a cashiers check, but the lady reminded me that that would be just like having cash. ?? No problem from my side, but since on the other hand she didn't know me either, she thought perhaps a little security for her was in order. Even though she had the saddle. Whatev. So I ended up calling a friend of her trainer and getting a personal endorsement, took a personal check from her and then took myself off to lunch with the daughter of Steve. To celebrate my big sale and business acumen we doodled around and shopped a bit and got our brows done and looking much fresher and younger we went our separate ways she to the land of booklearning and me to my new routine at the g.y.m..
As fate would have it the saddle did not fit the girl so I had another opportunity to drive to Berekely on Friday to pick it up. Had no lunch and zoomed back home after a brief respite at R.E.I. to salivate over an ArcTeryx jacket that I now could not afford since I had to give the check back. Manned up and left to go home and mope and then drive to the gym, (I was short on time) work out on the treadmill (a new aspect to fitness) AND the bike then shakily drive home only to leave again to go pick up grandson and carpool at snooty academy in Sacramento and ferry them back to Woodland where they were deposited at their various places of drop off and then waited patiently at my daughters house for her to come home and feed me wine. She was late.
Now I store a ton of horse and stable stuff at the daughter and son-in-laws place in one of (many) barns they have around. So I took the opportunity to go down and look through it all. There's a lot of stuff down there. Buckets, blankets, dressage earrings, whips, trunks, ribbons, 4270 hair nets, hoses, folding chairs, mats, boots, bits and helmets. I think I need to get more stuff to put the stuff in. I think thats how I ended up in this mess to begin with. I've given (forced) a lot of stuff to other people, well to one person, but she really needs to get over here and pick through the stuff to get more. Steve is no help at.all. He has a coat that hasn't been on his back since the 90's and a tuba that we have to haul around every few years and a trailer, yes a trailer full of c.r.a.p. that he hasn't looked at since 2003, but still thinks he has the right to tell me to get rid of my stuff. I say heal thyself. Not sure where this was going, but there you have it. If you need stuff you might want to call. I probably have it. Except I don't have the velcro EZBoot, but that is easily remedied. But please call too, if you want, and have to have a cross country saddle. Mint condition.
In a few short minutes from now I will have to get all gussied up to appear at Macys for three and a half hours shift of selling jewelry. It will take me easily an hour plus to get ready, for obvious reasons, not the least of which means slathering on cosmetics to try to make myself look kind of alive. And since tonight are the academy awards and everyone in Fairfield will have already bought their gems for the event, I will probably be alone in the jewelry tombs for the evening. I get to go back tomorrow as well. What's up with this? Since the first of the year I have worked one shift and that was a couple weeks ago and now I have to work two days in a row? What will this do my tax bracket? Some people are just not very understanding are they? Those of you who actually work all the time will not understand at all. You see I have a pretty nice life. I work sometimes, as you know, and I write this drivel, and I boss my husband around, to no avail, I torture my children and their spouses and have a healthy scrabble tournament going on on FaceBook, at which it enrages me to lose so I try not to, and every now and then we go to fabulous places like Fresno. So I really shouldn't whine about getting all pouffed and powdered to go work for three and a half hours, except there is no break. Break? Really? But there you have it. I'm spoiled. And life is better for it.
Amen,
Cheers,
Squidgy
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Uxorious
Uxorious is my new favorite word. It's just lovely. Lookit up, you'll be glad you did.
First off the $%^&*cat did not come home. We fear it has met an untimely end. This is bad. And not good for my reputation. For the record I have had three cats of my own. Two met a tragic death, one by raccoon or something and one by my dog. The third, seeing how things were going, bolted. We had a fourth, but since Steve brought that home without consulting me I don't count it, but it too is d.e.a.d.. You may have heard the story about that, but it sounds a lot funnier (if you will) with a lot of cocktails under yours and my belts. Without cocktails it's just disgusting and this is a family show. I am also responsible for the scarpering of a fifth cat, but since it had just scratched me and I had thrown it and it ran away and it wasn't even remotely mine I don't count it either. I do, however, have the scar to this day. It looks like this _________.
So I guess where I was going with this ramble is the stunning fact that my ski bound friend has decided she must take herself off to a horse show and has asked me to house sit again. Some people just don't learn, but who am I to argue? In any case, she is down to three dogs and three horses and three ponies. I can manage this quite happily. And God willing, none will meet a tragic end. I'll keep you posted.
In the meantime I have engaged in a war with the property management company who wrote the lease on our house. So last month they set up a new and improved method of rent collection...on-line payments from their website. I don't even have to get dressed to pay the rent. I eagerly signed up, received confirmation that I managed not to screw it up and waited patiently for the opportunity to pay my tithe. It so happened that the time to pay occurred while I was in wine country losing the cat. So I quite cheerily sat down at the computer, accessed the property management website and looked for the "online rent payment" tab. It was not there. Nor could I discover any way at all to pay the rent. I called the office and left a message, because God forbid anyone should be there on a weekend, and said I was trying to pay the rent, what should I do and all that sort of groveling. In the end I sent a bill payment check to them from my checking account. What follows next can be succinctly summed up with the simple term...bollocks. The property manager evidently can't be bothered with the little things like listening to her voice mails from me (5) the messages I left with her assistant (3) or having a conversation with me on the phone that does not include vague threats of late fees unpaid will incur late rent payment status each month till paid. Now right now Steve is having a cow. Chill baby, I have not lost my cool with any of this. I sent a very nice email to the president of the company explaining the situation, the number of times I called them, the trial and error of their online payment system and the "in good faith" efforts I took to fulfill my monetary duty. I also left a very nice voice message to the el presidente. And I did this on Monday when I should have been enjoying the flowers and candy...ahem. It is Wednesday now and I have sent a follow up email to the head honcho and I have yet to hear back from him. I think this shows an egregious lack of breeding and good manners. I should know. I am considering a tasteful written missive to the Better Business Bureau and the Chamber of Commerce. In the end I will end up paying the late fee, but be assured I will do it grudgingly and in ill humor. And it will be accompanied by a nasty letter that I will insist be made a permanent record in my file. So there. That'll show you.
Tomorrow the spouse, the dogs and I will pile, once again, in the cab of the little pickup and take ourselves off to Fresno for the the first Ram Tap horse trials of 2011. Now going to a horse show without a horse is not my favorite thing to do. And I may have mentioned in a previous post how things usually go down with Steve, the "guys" and the poles and standards and what not. But this weekends weather forecast is promising to add the pleasure of winds and rain, especially on Friday when we will be slogging through the mud and what not trying to get a course of show jumps set up. I can lift a regular standard, but I have to hoist it on my back and shuffle with it. I don't know exactly how much they weigh, but I do know they are heavier wet. Steve, on the other hand, can carry them in one hand. Now would you like to es-plain to me why then Steve tosses the poles around willy nilly and I have to be the muscle with the standards? I could quite easily pick up poles and toss them around hither and thither, but instead I have to grunt and grumble with at least 60 pounds of wood and water on my back. Oh right, and the sand and mud is sticky so sometimes just getting them off the ground is a full cardio workout. I suppose I am just getting warmed up for a grand mal meltdown. Stay tuned.
Speaking of cardio workout. I joined a gym this week. TaDa.! I see myself in a very short time svelte and fit and toned and half my age. It happens. Next week, I think, I should be at my target. Realistic? sure. Because only fitness freaks work at gyms and because I am so out of shape etc. etc. etc., my personal assessment coach is about 20 something, about six feet tall and has 0% body fat. To make me feel even more inadequate she also is a graduate of the US Air Force Academy. They don't let wimps graduate from the academy. And she is also the head honcho of all things fitness in the club. She was not impressed, I think, to hear that my goal was to be able to eat as much chocolate as I wanted and not have the "weighty" ill effects. But I believe in truth in advertising. So anyway she asked me about a million questions and I stared out in to space and made an effort to answer somewhat truthfully and then, because I hadn't been through enough humiliation yet, she put me on the scale, was struck dumb and asked if that was about the right weight. I was pretty cranky by then and said I didn't know...I couldn't see the weight because I didn't have my glasses on because I didn't want any extra weight on the weigh machine. Then she did the body fat assessment. I gotta stop right here and tell you that having a human bionic woman tsk tsk you about your fat to something or other ratio is not a great way to start the day. But I bravely manned up and took it and even sat on the recumbent bike for 20 minutes and burned about 5 million calories, well relatively anyway afterwards. I am a stud. Be very afraid. Oh Oh Oh, the best part was she told me that to maintain my weight, and it is grand, I would only have to exercise for about 30 minutes a day four or five times a week. If, however, I wished to lose weight and become the goddess I know I am, that will require a 60 minute commitment four or five times a week. I imagine the two or three days a week "off" are for major rehabilitation at the massage table.
Suffice it to say I have used up all my creativeness for the day. I leave you now breathless waiting to hear how every thing turns out for me. Rest assured I have no pride and will regale you with my further adventures as they happen.
Cheers,
Squidgy
First off the $%^&*cat did not come home. We fear it has met an untimely end. This is bad. And not good for my reputation. For the record I have had three cats of my own. Two met a tragic death, one by raccoon or something and one by my dog. The third, seeing how things were going, bolted. We had a fourth, but since Steve brought that home without consulting me I don't count it, but it too is d.e.a.d.. You may have heard the story about that, but it sounds a lot funnier (if you will) with a lot of cocktails under yours and my belts. Without cocktails it's just disgusting and this is a family show. I am also responsible for the scarpering of a fifth cat, but since it had just scratched me and I had thrown it and it ran away and it wasn't even remotely mine I don't count it either. I do, however, have the scar to this day. It looks like this _________.
So I guess where I was going with this ramble is the stunning fact that my ski bound friend has decided she must take herself off to a horse show and has asked me to house sit again. Some people just don't learn, but who am I to argue? In any case, she is down to three dogs and three horses and three ponies. I can manage this quite happily. And God willing, none will meet a tragic end. I'll keep you posted.
In the meantime I have engaged in a war with the property management company who wrote the lease on our house. So last month they set up a new and improved method of rent collection...on-line payments from their website. I don't even have to get dressed to pay the rent. I eagerly signed up, received confirmation that I managed not to screw it up and waited patiently for the opportunity to pay my tithe. It so happened that the time to pay occurred while I was in wine country losing the cat. So I quite cheerily sat down at the computer, accessed the property management website and looked for the "online rent payment" tab. It was not there. Nor could I discover any way at all to pay the rent. I called the office and left a message, because God forbid anyone should be there on a weekend, and said I was trying to pay the rent, what should I do and all that sort of groveling. In the end I sent a bill payment check to them from my checking account. What follows next can be succinctly summed up with the simple term...bollocks. The property manager evidently can't be bothered with the little things like listening to her voice mails from me (5) the messages I left with her assistant (3) or having a conversation with me on the phone that does not include vague threats of late fees unpaid will incur late rent payment status each month till paid. Now right now Steve is having a cow. Chill baby, I have not lost my cool with any of this. I sent a very nice email to the president of the company explaining the situation, the number of times I called them, the trial and error of their online payment system and the "in good faith" efforts I took to fulfill my monetary duty. I also left a very nice voice message to the el presidente. And I did this on Monday when I should have been enjoying the flowers and candy...ahem. It is Wednesday now and I have sent a follow up email to the head honcho and I have yet to hear back from him. I think this shows an egregious lack of breeding and good manners. I should know. I am considering a tasteful written missive to the Better Business Bureau and the Chamber of Commerce. In the end I will end up paying the late fee, but be assured I will do it grudgingly and in ill humor. And it will be accompanied by a nasty letter that I will insist be made a permanent record in my file. So there. That'll show you.
Tomorrow the spouse, the dogs and I will pile, once again, in the cab of the little pickup and take ourselves off to Fresno for the the first Ram Tap horse trials of 2011. Now going to a horse show without a horse is not my favorite thing to do. And I may have mentioned in a previous post how things usually go down with Steve, the "guys" and the poles and standards and what not. But this weekends weather forecast is promising to add the pleasure of winds and rain, especially on Friday when we will be slogging through the mud and what not trying to get a course of show jumps set up. I can lift a regular standard, but I have to hoist it on my back and shuffle with it. I don't know exactly how much they weigh, but I do know they are heavier wet. Steve, on the other hand, can carry them in one hand. Now would you like to es-plain to me why then Steve tosses the poles around willy nilly and I have to be the muscle with the standards? I could quite easily pick up poles and toss them around hither and thither, but instead I have to grunt and grumble with at least 60 pounds of wood and water on my back. Oh right, and the sand and mud is sticky so sometimes just getting them off the ground is a full cardio workout. I suppose I am just getting warmed up for a grand mal meltdown. Stay tuned.
Speaking of cardio workout. I joined a gym this week. TaDa.! I see myself in a very short time svelte and fit and toned and half my age. It happens. Next week, I think, I should be at my target. Realistic? sure. Because only fitness freaks work at gyms and because I am so out of shape etc. etc. etc., my personal assessment coach is about 20 something, about six feet tall and has 0% body fat. To make me feel even more inadequate she also is a graduate of the US Air Force Academy. They don't let wimps graduate from the academy. And she is also the head honcho of all things fitness in the club. She was not impressed, I think, to hear that my goal was to be able to eat as much chocolate as I wanted and not have the "weighty" ill effects. But I believe in truth in advertising. So anyway she asked me about a million questions and I stared out in to space and made an effort to answer somewhat truthfully and then, because I hadn't been through enough humiliation yet, she put me on the scale, was struck dumb and asked if that was about the right weight. I was pretty cranky by then and said I didn't know...I couldn't see the weight because I didn't have my glasses on because I didn't want any extra weight on the weigh machine. Then she did the body fat assessment. I gotta stop right here and tell you that having a human bionic woman tsk tsk you about your fat to something or other ratio is not a great way to start the day. But I bravely manned up and took it and even sat on the recumbent bike for 20 minutes and burned about 5 million calories, well relatively anyway afterwards. I am a stud. Be very afraid. Oh Oh Oh, the best part was she told me that to maintain my weight, and it is grand, I would only have to exercise for about 30 minutes a day four or five times a week. If, however, I wished to lose weight and become the goddess I know I am, that will require a 60 minute commitment four or five times a week. I imagine the two or three days a week "off" are for major rehabilitation at the massage table.
Suffice it to say I have used up all my creativeness for the day. I leave you now breathless waiting to hear how every thing turns out for me. Rest assured I have no pride and will regale you with my further adventures as they happen.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Squidgy gets a job
Last weekend I opted to earn my keep by house sitting for a friend in the bucolic countryside of wine country, CA. Under my care, custody and control were the following; two Jack Russell Terriers in various stages of hysteria, one Great Dane who was a beautiful mover, but not trustworthy, four ponies in different colors...white, brown, white and brown and brown and white and three horses, two TBs and one French Anglo-Arab. I felt centered and replete in a country roads take me home kind of thingy. Oopsie, forgot the cat. More on that later.
So I checked in to chez miscellany of animal and after a couple cocktails, saw my "owner/friend/ski bound mom" off for her weekend and I got to work. First up, bring the TB and his pasture companion the brown and white pony in from the pasture. I made it back to the barn in good shape and proceeded to wait for the farrier to come and put a shoe on the TB. The TB had had the bad manners to toss the right front shoe off and had hidden it in the secret pasture place. A little known fact about horse shoes, they are nailed on with real nails and then they come off. They almost always come off when the farrier cannot get to the horse for several days. This will always happen when you are trying to get ready for something where shoes are probably necessary, but now the horse won't get/have to work because the horse is a freaking weenie without shoes although it can and would tear madly about if given the opportunity with nary a lame step, but couldn't possibly be expected to walk from its stall to the cross ties bearing weight on the naked foot. At this point remember...1000lbs, brain the size of a walnut. I don't think so. I think the real brain in a horse is stashed somewhere besides the head where the "decoy" brain is housed. The real brain is probably in the tail. And has supernatural powers. Ask anyone who has tried to outwit a horse, or been smacked in the face with a tail. You know I'm right.
So anyway the farrier arrived, and I could tell it was the farrier because he was bent in the shape of an "S". This is because farriers spend all their lives bent over holding horses feet. And when they aren't bent over holding feet, they are bent over banging iron on iron with iron, or lifting a 5000# anvil up and down from a truck bed. What the hell kind of job is that anyway? So anyway "Mike the Farrier" announced he was the farrier and I said I could tell and he got to work. So because "Mike the Farrier" had just been there the day before to deal with the nailing hind shoes to hind feet and theTB was a perfect angel and stood quietly through the ordeal of having new shoes he knew he had to present his alter ego the snorting, stomping, kicking, untrustworthy side. Awesome. It was near six, starting to get cold, past dinner time and we were all tired. What a combination. Well suffice it to say that two changes of cross ties, two shoes and a lot of b.s. later the horse was re-shod and pouting in his stall, the shoer (you can also call them shoers) had loaded his stuff back into his truck and had trundled off and I proceeded to the big house to collapse.
Not so quick here cutie, the canines also needed to be fed. So the Great Dane got two big scoops of her special diet in the big bowl which was placed on the upturned galvanized tank outside so there would be no squabbling with the hysterical JRT's. The hysterical JRT's each received a scant half cup of their special diet which had the gag inducing stench of long dead fish, in the house. Nasty. So then I went in search of the cat...Earlier in the day I'd seen the cat doing what cats do best, sleeping on a human bed, occasionally coming to long enough to display talons from his feet and stretching and exhausted from that effort resuming the nap. So I knew he was there. But I couldn't find him...then.
I took myself off to the Nepalese restaurant for some mouthwatering nosh takeout, came back and cribbed up on the couch and proceeded to vege out in front of the tee vee with the JRT's. Now when you vege out on the couch with JRT's it is critical not to move. JRT's are very serious about cribbing up and don't like it when you move...at all. So there we were and I heard this godawful noise like a wounded pterodactyl which sounded like it was coming from outside. I quickly texted Steve (remember Steve? the felon?) that there was a wounded pterodactyl outside and what should I do. He recommended hiding. And since I was already on the couch with the dogs perhaps I should just stay there. So I did.
But, as it turned out, it wasn't a pterodactyl at all, nor was it wounded. It was in fact the cat. The cat who hated the Great Dane because the Great Dane liked to chase the cat. So I picked the cat up, after enraging the JRT's on the couch by moving and inciting a mini bout of snarling, growling and snapping, and brought him on to the couch fully believing that the cat, who didn't know me from Adam, would be content on the couch with two hysterical JRT's and a lurking cat chashing Great Dane in near proximity. Some times I amaze even myself. Suffice it to say the Great Dane took it upon herself to insinuate her head in the grill of the cat. The cat got pissed. The JRT's sensing altercation rose to the challenge and the cat made its hair stand up and the rest of it too and hissed. Anticipating grievous bodily harm to come, I made the executive decision to put the cat out. The skiing bound mother had said the cat could go out, so out it went. The ski bound mother also told me the cat would raise a considerable racket in the morning to be let back in and would wake me early. I thought if I could sleep through Aunt Betty chasing the Hoover under my bed, I could sleep through anything and I wasn't particularly worried about losing some Zzz's. And the JRT's and I cribbed up once again till we felt the time had come to go to bed. And we did, all three of us under the covers, and nested till morning.
In the morning I looked outside for the stall cleaner. No esta aqui. Grumble grumble. Now I don't mind cleaning stalls, nor do I mind getting up to feed, but I do like to know that that is expected of me. So I rushed down to the barn, did the feeding thing, rushed back to the house and drank coffee for about an hour or so. About mid-morning I decided the stall cleaner was not going to make an appearance so I took myself off to the barn once again to do some cleaning. I am the slowest stall cleaner in the world. I don't know why, but I can barely finish one stall in the time it takes a normal person to clean like five stalls. So it was way in to the day by time I finished. But I'd had a fine time for myself turning ponies and horses out, lunging and cleaning tack.
One of the boarders showed up in the afternoon with her vet so he could look at her horse, the French Anglo-Arab and we had a really exciting time with that. The French Anglo-Arab horse recieved acupunture and chiropractic treatments and then was scanned with the magic ultrasound wand and was determined to have strained a ligament in it's leg and so there was much to do about that as well and various treatments were discussed and lotions and potions were applied and we all had a very good time discussing past injuries to other horses and success stories and the like. Then it was time to bring the horses and ponies in again, feed them, put their bankies on and trek back to the house for left over Nepalese nosh and feed the dogs and crib up again. And the cat was not in evidence, but as I was about crippled from unaccustomed excercise and pooped to boot I didn't really even pay attention to that mysterious fact. But I did watch taped episodes of the "The Defenders" and "Ramsays Kitchen Nightmares" with the dogs and so we were quite busy with that. Then we had to go to bed.
The next morning, after ascertaining the stall cleaner was there and that he had fed the horses and ponies I slunk back to the house to get my coffee infusions. I thought perhaps the cat was lurking in the field next to the house, and having had that sighting, went in and forgot all about it.
Well the rest of the weekend went on and the spouse came over for the day on Saturday and we played lord and lady of the manor and drove the drag around the arena and made dust and went out to eat and I pulled some pony manes and turned the equines out in their fields and generally did those farming chores that never really feel like chores because you aren't vacuuming or dusting. And so the next two days passed agreeably and and the dogs and I watched some more tee vee and went to bed.
It wasn't until I was safely back in my own home, not in the bucolic countryside, that the ski mom called and asked where the cat was. Damn it all to hell. I forgot about the cat. And I hadn't seen it except for briefly and ski mom told me how sad the children were and blah blah blah. So naturally I felt terrible and I had no good answers for her and I texted her every day or so for the next few days, but to date the cat hasn't come home. I blame the Great Dane, whom I decided was the Anti-Christ and not to be trusted. But I suspect we'll never really know...or the cat will nonchalantly stroll back in a few more days and wonder what the fuss is all about and go back to sleep on the human bed waking only for the personal ablutions and nail extension excercises.
Squidgy is available to house sit for you too! No cats.
Cheers,
Squidgy
So I checked in to chez miscellany of animal and after a couple cocktails, saw my "owner/friend/ski bound mom" off for her weekend and I got to work. First up, bring the TB and his pasture companion the brown and white pony in from the pasture. I made it back to the barn in good shape and proceeded to wait for the farrier to come and put a shoe on the TB. The TB had had the bad manners to toss the right front shoe off and had hidden it in the secret pasture place. A little known fact about horse shoes, they are nailed on with real nails and then they come off. They almost always come off when the farrier cannot get to the horse for several days. This will always happen when you are trying to get ready for something where shoes are probably necessary, but now the horse won't get/have to work because the horse is a freaking weenie without shoes although it can and would tear madly about if given the opportunity with nary a lame step, but couldn't possibly be expected to walk from its stall to the cross ties bearing weight on the naked foot. At this point remember...1000lbs, brain the size of a walnut. I don't think so. I think the real brain in a horse is stashed somewhere besides the head where the "decoy" brain is housed. The real brain is probably in the tail. And has supernatural powers. Ask anyone who has tried to outwit a horse, or been smacked in the face with a tail. You know I'm right.
So anyway the farrier arrived, and I could tell it was the farrier because he was bent in the shape of an "S". This is because farriers spend all their lives bent over holding horses feet. And when they aren't bent over holding feet, they are bent over banging iron on iron with iron, or lifting a 5000# anvil up and down from a truck bed. What the hell kind of job is that anyway? So anyway "Mike the Farrier" announced he was the farrier and I said I could tell and he got to work. So because "Mike the Farrier" had just been there the day before to deal with the nailing hind shoes to hind feet and theTB was a perfect angel and stood quietly through the ordeal of having new shoes he knew he had to present his alter ego the snorting, stomping, kicking, untrustworthy side. Awesome. It was near six, starting to get cold, past dinner time and we were all tired. What a combination. Well suffice it to say that two changes of cross ties, two shoes and a lot of b.s. later the horse was re-shod and pouting in his stall, the shoer (you can also call them shoers) had loaded his stuff back into his truck and had trundled off and I proceeded to the big house to collapse.
Not so quick here cutie, the canines also needed to be fed. So the Great Dane got two big scoops of her special diet in the big bowl which was placed on the upturned galvanized tank outside so there would be no squabbling with the hysterical JRT's. The hysterical JRT's each received a scant half cup of their special diet which had the gag inducing stench of long dead fish, in the house. Nasty. So then I went in search of the cat...Earlier in the day I'd seen the cat doing what cats do best, sleeping on a human bed, occasionally coming to long enough to display talons from his feet and stretching and exhausted from that effort resuming the nap. So I knew he was there. But I couldn't find him...then.
I took myself off to the Nepalese restaurant for some mouthwatering nosh takeout, came back and cribbed up on the couch and proceeded to vege out in front of the tee vee with the JRT's. Now when you vege out on the couch with JRT's it is critical not to move. JRT's are very serious about cribbing up and don't like it when you move...at all. So there we were and I heard this godawful noise like a wounded pterodactyl which sounded like it was coming from outside. I quickly texted Steve (remember Steve? the felon?) that there was a wounded pterodactyl outside and what should I do. He recommended hiding. And since I was already on the couch with the dogs perhaps I should just stay there. So I did.
But, as it turned out, it wasn't a pterodactyl at all, nor was it wounded. It was in fact the cat. The cat who hated the Great Dane because the Great Dane liked to chase the cat. So I picked the cat up, after enraging the JRT's on the couch by moving and inciting a mini bout of snarling, growling and snapping, and brought him on to the couch fully believing that the cat, who didn't know me from Adam, would be content on the couch with two hysterical JRT's and a lurking cat chashing Great Dane in near proximity. Some times I amaze even myself. Suffice it to say the Great Dane took it upon herself to insinuate her head in the grill of the cat. The cat got pissed. The JRT's sensing altercation rose to the challenge and the cat made its hair stand up and the rest of it too and hissed. Anticipating grievous bodily harm to come, I made the executive decision to put the cat out. The skiing bound mother had said the cat could go out, so out it went. The ski bound mother also told me the cat would raise a considerable racket in the morning to be let back in and would wake me early. I thought if I could sleep through Aunt Betty chasing the Hoover under my bed, I could sleep through anything and I wasn't particularly worried about losing some Zzz's. And the JRT's and I cribbed up once again till we felt the time had come to go to bed. And we did, all three of us under the covers, and nested till morning.
In the morning I looked outside for the stall cleaner. No esta aqui. Grumble grumble. Now I don't mind cleaning stalls, nor do I mind getting up to feed, but I do like to know that that is expected of me. So I rushed down to the barn, did the feeding thing, rushed back to the house and drank coffee for about an hour or so. About mid-morning I decided the stall cleaner was not going to make an appearance so I took myself off to the barn once again to do some cleaning. I am the slowest stall cleaner in the world. I don't know why, but I can barely finish one stall in the time it takes a normal person to clean like five stalls. So it was way in to the day by time I finished. But I'd had a fine time for myself turning ponies and horses out, lunging and cleaning tack.
One of the boarders showed up in the afternoon with her vet so he could look at her horse, the French Anglo-Arab and we had a really exciting time with that. The French Anglo-Arab horse recieved acupunture and chiropractic treatments and then was scanned with the magic ultrasound wand and was determined to have strained a ligament in it's leg and so there was much to do about that as well and various treatments were discussed and lotions and potions were applied and we all had a very good time discussing past injuries to other horses and success stories and the like. Then it was time to bring the horses and ponies in again, feed them, put their bankies on and trek back to the house for left over Nepalese nosh and feed the dogs and crib up again. And the cat was not in evidence, but as I was about crippled from unaccustomed excercise and pooped to boot I didn't really even pay attention to that mysterious fact. But I did watch taped episodes of the "The Defenders" and "Ramsays Kitchen Nightmares" with the dogs and so we were quite busy with that. Then we had to go to bed.
The next morning, after ascertaining the stall cleaner was there and that he had fed the horses and ponies I slunk back to the house to get my coffee infusions. I thought perhaps the cat was lurking in the field next to the house, and having had that sighting, went in and forgot all about it.
Well the rest of the weekend went on and the spouse came over for the day on Saturday and we played lord and lady of the manor and drove the drag around the arena and made dust and went out to eat and I pulled some pony manes and turned the equines out in their fields and generally did those farming chores that never really feel like chores because you aren't vacuuming or dusting. And so the next two days passed agreeably and and the dogs and I watched some more tee vee and went to bed.
It wasn't until I was safely back in my own home, not in the bucolic countryside, that the ski mom called and asked where the cat was. Damn it all to hell. I forgot about the cat. And I hadn't seen it except for briefly and ski mom told me how sad the children were and blah blah blah. So naturally I felt terrible and I had no good answers for her and I texted her every day or so for the next few days, but to date the cat hasn't come home. I blame the Great Dane, whom I decided was the Anti-Christ and not to be trusted. But I suspect we'll never really know...or the cat will nonchalantly stroll back in a few more days and wonder what the fuss is all about and go back to sleep on the human bed waking only for the personal ablutions and nail extension excercises.
Squidgy is available to house sit for you too! No cats.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Busted
I went to the acupuncturist as promised. The treatment was remarkably good. I'd go so far as to say one of the best results ever. I did miss the woo woo music. This being Kaiser there was no room in the budget for woo woo, but I did enjoy a nice nap whilst punctured with about 6000 needles and basted by the heat lamp. I was also treated with a residual therapy and I'm currently sporting two needle like apparatus in my right ear that I am meant to squeeze in order to jump start some sort of mystical mumbo jumbo that will redirect something or other and keep me pain free. Awesome. I go back in a month and am truly looking forward to it. So there you go.
So a couple summers ago the spouse and I journeyed to the great northwest to visit an event in Onalaska, WA. We flew in to Portland and rented a fine little car from our buddies at Hertz and began our trek north. Scarcely had we crossed in to WA when the red flashing lights of a happy little highway cop indicated we should pull over and have a little chit chat with law enforcement. I was not driving. Happy Dance. Steve took it like a man and handed me the ticket and suggested I "handle" it. Fine. At least it wasn't me, hehehehe. Ok, so about a year later we, no I, paid the fine and the incident was dismissed from mind and memory.
Fast forward to last week. In a missive from the DMV came the notice that Steve, now a felon, was not to drive as his drivers license had been suspended due to failure to appear and non payment of fines and any other number of sins. If you know Steve imagine how he took that. If you don't, well even the dogs scuttled off. Anyway I tried in vain to find all the paperwork for the "incident" and having no luck in that venture proceeded to try to contact the WA state courts to get the problem sorted out. For forty-five minutes I redialed the phone number I found online and in the process ate up valuable minutes on my mobile and got the same busy signal. Eventually I gave up on Washington and turned to the CA DMV system and again with the redial and busy signals for another twenty wasted minutes till I did persevere and actually reach the single live person employed by the department of motor vehicles who is immune to customer outrage and has to speak to the great unwashed who have the fortitude to wade through the morass of phone options which lead you in a circuitous route to live body person. This person rarely receives any awards for outstanding customer service.
In the meantime, since I am woman and am capable of the phenomenon of multi tasking, I researched and located the the receipt online from the Clark County municipal and district (WA state) courts indicating the fine had indeed been paid and the case was in fact...closed. Which is a conundrum since Steve was now on the lam and wanted in two states. Thank God I wasn't driving. So I talked to the live body at DMV, she agreed Steve was a wanted man and suggested I fax all the stuff regarding the crime including the print out that stated the fine had been paid, the case #, Docket #, Drivers License #, Violation date, and send same to "CA DMV - pay violations" and indicate the fax should go to the attention to "Out Of State Team". I did that and feeling rather disgruntled dismissed it as a job well done.
Not so quick my pretty. Yesterday because he works for the county and has nothing better to do, Steve had his friend the cop run his DMV record So anyway this is the email I received from the wanted man.
Hello my sweet...I had Mark the Cop run my driver's license today and it's still *expletive deleted* up...apparently the dipships in Washington managed to enter the same citation several times, so even though it shows that one citation is paid, it's the other false ones that are holding things up...Mark's going to bring me a copy of what he found on the secret cop database thingy, but the key issue, apparently, is that all the citations are entered under the same docket #...that apparently isn't correct. I'll scan and email you what he brings me so you have it...meanwhile, would you please be so kind as to see if you can try to reach somebody at the world famous Washington State DMV to try to un *expletive deleted* this? If we're still members of AAA, they might be able to help...thank you baby, xxxoooxoxoxoxxo
So back to the phones. I did finally, after a lifetime of wasted minutes and many games of solitaire, get through to the one person in Washington State who is being punished for something by having to talk to real, irate citizens and began to plead my case, which isn't my case at all, but let's not nit pick shall we? Well to make a really long, boring story blessedly shorter, Washington State DMV wench refused to talk to me. Full stop. Evidently she thought it would be a MUCH better idea to talk to the wanted personally. And so with some trepidation I bravely left a voice mail message for Steve to take care of it himself, and took myself off to a darkened room with a GIANT bar of chocolate and sucked my thumb for awhile. Why, I ask, is nothing ever easy?
I'm house sitting for a friend this weekend. She's taking her offspring up to Tahoe for a ski weekend. I will be blissfully setting up house in wine country tending to three dogs and like five? horses/ponies. Nirvana. Additionally I should be having an outing with a good friend on Saturday with whom I should enjoy a girls night out and celebrate her birthday. Common sense and decency requires I not blab her age, but as I am older it would scarcely be any fun anyway. I am looking on this as an opportunity not to dwell on the impending fate of my spouse. Good luck with that Steve. God Speed.
Cheers,
Squidgy
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