Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Cowboys & Princesses

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We visited Hee Tee's horse today, Tango. She was a big brown lady with eyes like chocolate drops. As I leaned over the fence she gave me an affectionate nuzzle in welcome. (I chose to overlook the fact that she smelled the Granny Smiths in my pocket.)

In a rare flip of expectations, Pipsqueak hovered behind the gate flicking away flies while Stink asked to ride him. Tango didn't have a saddle, but Tee put on a roped bridle and up Stink went. As I held onto Stink's waist, Tango walked gently a whole three feet to the gate where she let Tee stroke her muzzle, Stink meanwhile grinning like a cowboy who just kissed a big breasted saloon girl. (No Mom, your grandson was NOT wearing a helmet. I was hoping he'd crack his head open so he and his sis could have matching scars.)

Later we walked through some empty stalls. The kids had a blast dousing themselves with water from the refillable drinking trays. They looked remarkably like the holy water stations at church, except this water automatically refilled itself - something the church should think about, no? One less job for the altar boys.

With a heavenly breeze against my skin, I actually pondered the idea of owning a horse: The stillness of routine cleaning the stables each morning. The intoxicating smell of hay. The peace that only comes from the physical exhaustion of mane brushing and shit clean-up.

I could almost taste the dream: Mama P and nature. Beauty and the Beast. (By this point I was sweating a very earthy odor, so by Beauty, I am referring to the land.)

One thing about a spinning brain is that while I can imagine the lofty dream of horse ownership, my synapses stay glued on the "shit clean-up" section, then quickly bee line to horse flies, manure, stinky water and the occasional shot gun as I put down a lame horse (first shooting down a neighbor's telephone pole - I'm not much on aim.)

Everything considered, I am opting to visit Tango with my mini ranch hands in tow. Though word to the wise: don't let your toddler wear a pink sparkle cowboy hat unless you want a goat attemping to hump her.

Leaving the ranch we looked like dust bunnies with eyes, so it was home to the elephant pool for a quick bath and shampoo. Ah, the elephant pool. The $7.00 gift that keeps on giving. It doesn't require stable fees, horse shoes and can be ridden without a harness.

As I type this, Queen Pip is happily trotting on the couch watching Dora, while Scooby Stink rubs his eyes and promises me he's not tired.

I'll believe that the day I buy a horse.

1 comment:

onetallmomma said...

Yup, horse poop keeps me from horse ownership. Plus the fact that I am deathly allergic to them.