Saturday Mornings are Baaack!

Just had to share this. It’s actually typical here, but most people haven’t experienced Saturdays at my house. They leave not quite the same as when they arrived.

A long-time friend of mine has been into animal rescue for as long as I’ve known her. Her lease on her current place ran out, and she’s looking for around fifty rural acres or so to lease in Stone County. But in the mean time she needed a place to keep her personal horses.

We’d fenced off about four acres together a few years ago so I told her to bring them here. Everything minor yet aggravating that could go wrong did go wrong for her, so she arrived last night well after dark with four horses. We walked the fence line by flashlight, and felt it was secure.

However, being exhausted she didn’t lock the gate securely. You probably already know what’s coming.

I always wake up extremely early. So I stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen to make coffee, and was thrilled to see the red eye of the coffee pot glaring at me in the semi-dark. That meant hubby was up before me and the elixir of life would soon be available. I wondered where he was because I hadn’t run into him.

I heard one of the dogs barking outside and saw his flip-flops were missing from beside the back door. He’d obviously let the dogs out to do their business. I was enjoying watching the sky change through early morning shades of pearl when a horse swept past the kitchen window. My mind without caffeine does not compute very quickly. All I saw was the beauty of her gait, an extended trot, her forelegs flashing as she threw them straight out before her, a light, playful dancer’s steps full of grace and joyous spirit. She was moving so smoothly and beautifully that her mane fluttered silkily out from her arched neck, and her tail was a high-held streamer floating like some medieval banner of old. Then she was past the window.

The next thing to surge into view was a blur of camouflage jacket.

It was hubby, his knees flashing high, elbows pumping, what hair that wasn’t tucked under his stocking cap streaming behind him as he chased the aforementioned horse. Looked quite studly in the morning light, if I do say so. Even if his toes were chilled red and glistening from the dew where flip-flops didn’t cover.

Things clicked, I yelled “Horses are out!”, and yelps, thumps and bangs erupted from the bedrooms where my son and grandson were sleeping. Of course the whole time they’re doing that running hop thing stamping shoes on, they’re tripping over the dangling sleeves of their jackets because they’ve only shoved one arm in so far, I’m totally useless from laughing hysterically.

Two more dogs slip out in Jr. and Jr. II’s mad scramble out the door to assist hubby, and it’s suddenly a circus circling the house. Every time the guys get the horses headed back for the gate, the dogs decide to be heroic and come to their defense and run those really BIG dogs away. There is much yelling, throwing of sticks, threats of canine neutering with dull objects, and even a couple of F-bombs when forced to dive for cover or be run down by a thousand pounds of horse.

Male egos bruise easily and I’m usually pretty careful about pandering to them, but after watching this for about ten minutes I decided I needed to intercede. And I admit it took about that long to stop snorting snot from laughing at all the shouting at the dogs to shut up, and the darting, dodging and arm flapping going on out there. Neighbors were even getting in on it, driving slowly by while waving and laughing, tooting horns to show their sympathy for the situation. All of them were smart enough not to stop.

I did the only thing possible. I called the dogs inside. They listen to me. Only because I feed them, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.

Then I ran outside barefoot and pried the lid off the feed barrel, dragged a bucket through it, ran into the front yard and shook it twice. Chaos instantly became order.

The horses froze on the spot as if someone turned on a super-magnet and their little metal horseshoes locked them in place. Four pair of equine ears swiveled in my direction. I shook it once more and four horses headed my way totally ignoring the yapping dogs they were pretending to be afraid of five seconds ago.

Now the dogs are whining, traumatized because the horses are paying them no attention. The guys are even more traumatized because a girl solved the problem with nothing but a bucket of feed.

Following my lead they each grab a bucket of feed and lure a horse to hand. Of course, I’m the only one who gets stepped on. The stud I caught spun going for the bucket I held and a hoof clipped the back of my calf before I got out of his way. That left a mark. And a new limp.

But hey! While I’m laid up with an ice pack, the guys have to do all the cooking! Yay!! Don’t tell them, but I’m really hoping I can pretend to be pathetic enough to stretch it out for a few days.

What do you think of my chances?


3 Responses

  1. Great story- wish I had been there to see it,

  2. Can guarantee there wasn’t the first thing dignified about it! hahahaha

  3. OmG, if you knew how many times something like this has happened around my house! I’m laughing and nodding my head. I’m relieved to know this doesn’t just happen around here 🙂

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