|October 10, 2011||Posted by Melinda under Uncategorized|
Dear human who buys my hay,
Did you know that it is raining? Right now. And you seem to have forgotten something. Like a blanket, or a shelter, or a nice covered barn. Do you really expect me to use my copious amounts of fat and a few pitiful trees to shelter me from the ferocious California winter? Effective immediately you will feed me alfalfa when it is raining. I have plans for this fat and it does NOT involve shivering it off because you don’t care. I’ll need it when you drag me out in the middle of nowhere in something you call “an endurance ride” where I will have to live off the land and avoid hungry predators.
Also. I have another complaint. Location location location. I no longer feel safe and demand an immediate relocation back to my barn that came with blanket services and friends. First was that grassfire, complete with fire trucks and sirens. I forgot to put on my arab act and just stood there because I was in shock – I had done MY job of created a firebreak in my pasture but obviously the horses in THAT pasture are second rate citizens and didn’t bother to PROPERLY prepare for disaster.
I’m pretty sure the mucous membranes of my lungs are permanently damaged *cough* and should (effectively immediately) be put on permanent retirement with an increase in hay ration.
This morning was the last straw. My morning routine consists of naps, galloping before dawn, and then sunning myself in the early morning rays. Needless to say these self care activities are INTEGRAL for my mental (and physical) well being of a recovering endurance horse (unless you decide to retire me with extra hay? *hint* *hint* *hint*).
Shortly before dawn, I heard rifle shots. As you foolishly attempted to do silly cavarly stunts including pistols, I DO KNOW what gunfire sounds like. So don’t tell me I am overacting.
I immediately sent my minions to access the situation and as near as I can figure, this is what happened.
My neighbor that I shall call “the chicken man”, grows weed. (you didn’t think that all those fences and shelters were just for his fighting cock population did you?). Someone came to steal the weed in big bags they attempted to throw over the fence. “The chicken man”, not content with illegal acts of fighting cocks and growing weed, has decided to add “discharging a fire arm” and “shooting the thief” to the long list of infractions.
Needless to say, the cops, K-9 units, and helicopter hovering around the area are extremely distracting.
I do believe that I’m feeling ulcers – or anxiety – or PTSD – or Arab-Brain – coming on. Quick! You must DO SOMETHING. I do believe extra hay would head off inevitable diasaster.
PS – We can stop focusing on my weight anytime – have you even LOOKED at yourself in the mirror lately? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you aren’t wearing your riding tights to come see me. Teeee hehehehehe.