SOB. POS. MF'er. Need I go on?
This boy seriously needs a job.
It's upper 30's, too warm for the uber heavyweight blankets so Mom's feeling compassionate and toodles out into a brisk breeze, not exactly blanketed myself for conditions. Winnie's good, she comes over for a cuddle, whacks me upside the head (love tap) and stands quietly while I disrobe her.
The Bobster doesn't have a halter on (Czar destroyed all three of them & they're at the Amish tack shop getting repaired). Mom's no fool. I wrapped a lead line around his neck. He takes off anyway, with me hanging onto the line and simultaneously removing the straps and struggling with the GD (cussword #4) bullsnaps. OK, I drag the blanket off, creating small lightning bolts from the friction (serves you right you ....).
Czar's now a challenge, the last horse standing, fully clothed. I'm got my iPod, tunes are blaring in my cold ears but I have ALL DAY if I need it. I communicate that little thing to young Master Czar. He makes his point, I make mine. He stops, I hook the leadline to the halter. His blanket is on the complex, WTF were they thinking, design with hard-to-get-to snaps and hooks, velcro that really grabs, and so on and so forth.
I've just unlatched the rear hook and the GD (#5) bullsnap hitches onto his tail and TUGS ever so gently. F**k (#6) I know what's coming. He yanks, I yank back, desperately trying to pull the blanket away.
And here comes BOB, at full out gallop, screeching around the corner and headed straight for us.
I am now officially road kill.
Czar sees Bob out of the corner of his eye and spins into ME, the blanket stretched impossibly between us. Then he bolts, Bob skids past and keeps on going. The GD MF'er (#7 & 8) is wearing a grin, I swear it. I've got a lead line in one hand and the blanket in the other, both attached to a horse working up to 10 mph and accelerating.
I do the only thing I can, I drop the blanket. Said item is now trailing Czar's legs, then the material becomes tangled quite impressively around legs moving like pistons on an Indy 500 race car. GDSOBMF'er (working up to n+1 now).
Do I drop the line? What, do I look stupid to you? Don't answer that...
No, I continue to hang on and actually manage to turn his head onto a circle until the brat's doing 5 meter circles at a hand gallop. Mercifully the blanket's now resting on a pile of quite fresh manure. Do I need to say it (n+2)?
Where's Bob you ask? BOB's doing RODEO BOB maneuvers, bucking, rearing, spinning. Bob fails flat on his side because he hit a soft spot. Ask me if I cared at that point.
What I'm doing is screaming bloody murder and waving my headphones at everything with four legs - and strangely enough, on the playlist? 'Drive Me Insane' by Billy Boy on Poison.
Karma. Oh hell, yeah. (Does that count?)
It's 3 o'clock, is it too early for a Bloody Mary, 1:1 vodka-to-mix?
This boy seriously needs a job.
It's upper 30's, too warm for the uber heavyweight blankets so Mom's feeling compassionate and toodles out into a brisk breeze, not exactly blanketed myself for conditions. Winnie's good, she comes over for a cuddle, whacks me upside the head (love tap) and stands quietly while I disrobe her.
The Bobster doesn't have a halter on (Czar destroyed all three of them & they're at the Amish tack shop getting repaired). Mom's no fool. I wrapped a lead line around his neck. He takes off anyway, with me hanging onto the line and simultaneously removing the straps and struggling with the GD (cussword #4) bullsnaps. OK, I drag the blanket off, creating small lightning bolts from the friction (serves you right you ....).
Czar's now a challenge, the last horse standing, fully clothed. I'm got my iPod, tunes are blaring in my cold ears but I have ALL DAY if I need it. I communicate that little thing to young Master Czar. He makes his point, I make mine. He stops, I hook the leadline to the halter. His blanket is on the complex, WTF were they thinking, design with hard-to-get-to snaps and hooks, velcro that really grabs, and so on and so forth.
I've just unlatched the rear hook and the GD (#5) bullsnap hitches onto his tail and TUGS ever so gently. F**k (#6) I know what's coming. He yanks, I yank back, desperately trying to pull the blanket away.
And here comes BOB, at full out gallop, screeching around the corner and headed straight for us.
I am now officially road kill.
Czar sees Bob out of the corner of his eye and spins into ME, the blanket stretched impossibly between us. Then he bolts, Bob skids past and keeps on going. The GD MF'er (#7 & 8) is wearing a grin, I swear it. I've got a lead line in one hand and the blanket in the other, both attached to a horse working up to 10 mph and accelerating.
I do the only thing I can, I drop the blanket. Said item is now trailing Czar's legs, then the material becomes tangled quite impressively around legs moving like pistons on an Indy 500 race car. GDSOBMF'er (working up to n+1 now).
Do I drop the line? What, do I look stupid to you? Don't answer that...
No, I continue to hang on and actually manage to turn his head onto a circle until the brat's doing 5 meter circles at a hand gallop. Mercifully the blanket's now resting on a pile of quite fresh manure. Do I need to say it (n+2)?
Where's Bob you ask? BOB's doing RODEO BOB maneuvers, bucking, rearing, spinning. Bob fails flat on his side because he hit a soft spot. Ask me if I cared at that point.
What I'm doing is screaming bloody murder and waving my headphones at everything with four legs - and strangely enough, on the playlist? 'Drive Me Insane' by Billy Boy on Poison.
Karma. Oh hell, yeah. (Does that count?)
It's 3 o'clock, is it too early for a Bloody Mary, 1:1 vodka-to-mix?
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