And so my fourth day at Equi-Sens went as swell as ever, almost lifting even my dreary expectations that something must always inevitably go wrong. I apologize for not having a post up last week, only the pics I’d taken had turned out horrifically blurry and I didn’t wish to give my readership, tentative as it is (you know I love y’all, right?), any reason to suspect I’m a drunkard atop everything else. Cuz that would suck. I guess.
Anyway. After making me wait for about fifteen minutes (which is rather inconvenient, considering I only have an hour from arrival to departure to fetch, brush, saddle and ride the horse, and then bring her back, unsaddle her and place her in her box, and that the brushing and saddling up alone take up anywhere from twenty to thirty minutes), during which I got started on preparing Charlotte, my one-day-trusty Percheron. Not to sound like some dreamy-eyed romantic, but I just love that horse. She has such a sweet disposition … when she’s relaxed, anyway.
Meanwhile, as I was waiting, the cats showed up and started following me, undoubtedly fixated by my irresistible allure with my big, poofy red winter coat. Unfortunately, I had apparently forgotten that cats ordinarily come with claws and that jeans offer feeble protection, which became quite relevant when Caramel (I’ll let you guess which it is in the photos, below) began climbing all over me, as cats are want to do. (Or, rather, as I am want to let them do. You know I’m just a big ol’ pushover.) (Well, not really.) (Sorta.) (Shut up.)
Cats: Always plotting your demise (and you know it) [full size (1200×900)]
Doesn’t show, but she was wondering how best to get at my soft leg flesh [full size (1200×900)]
|Now, she’s just acting all haughty and cat-like and shit
[full size (1200×900)]
I then remembered how much I love cats. Bugger all.
Working was also made all the more difficult as I was being watched the whole time by this creep who obviously had dark, perverse ideas in mind:
|Pictured: Chuck, stalker-head
[full size (1200×900)]
Well, either that, or he also thought I looked like the insides of a cherry pie. Which would also explain why the bastard bit my thumb as I went to pet him. (A playful and painless little nip, but still, dem teeth, man.)
Anyway. I was able to saddle Charlotte up all by myself for once (which, considering the parts and steps involved, isn’t too bad for my third go, I dare reckon), after which my tutor insisted that I learn to get on without the little two-foot-tall steps we’d been using until then. Which wouldn’t have been an issue – I do have magnificently long and nimble legs, after all – if my hose hadn’t been as fracking tall as I was, thus making this less a challenge and more an acrobatic performance. I was able to stride her – eventually – and the real lesson began. (With about fifteen minutes left to my original hour. Sadness.)
I still fucking love this gig. Can’t wait for (next) Friday. And I’m already nervous that the classes are already halfway over.