It finally happened. This day I’ve been waiting for. This stellar day. This unforgettable, magical, splendorific, day. This huge deposit made to my memory bank day.
This I-rode-Star-for-the-very-first-time day.
Yup. After first meeting this wild and scrawny two year old Saddlebred in early January 2015, then taking him on as a rescue project of sorts, then bringing him to the Funny Farm in December 2015 when Recluse Man bought him for me as a Christmas gift, then gentling him and getting him healthy and strong and acquainted with the ways of humans, then putting him in the hands of a great trainer for a month of lessons…today was the day I have been dreaming about. Today I climbed on that handsome boy of mine and rode him safely and assuredly for the very first time.
We walked and trotted and turned half circles and full circles and backed and stopped and did pretty side passes. And this was only the fifth time Star has had a rider aboard. The first four times, Star’s trainer Jim Frazier, rode him and in fact started him out today under saddle with only a halter and lead rope to guide him.
Despite his sometimes crazy and skittish Saddlebred ways, Star has been a remarkable student with a rider up. A quick study. He has a soft mouth and responds with great willingness to leg pressure. To get to this point wasn’t always easy. We worked doggedly together, the three of us, and now we’re here.
Ask me if I’ve been smiling.
Aaaah yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. I knew you’d ask.
Perhaps the happiest girl in the whole wide world. Me. Today. Yes.
Never have I experienced such destruction and absolute disregard for my cherished flower gardens as I have this summer. And we’re only a few days into summer. Sigh.
First it was D.O.G. the pig chomping my flower beds near the house. He was dainty at first, just nibbling blossoms and leaving me the dirt and naked stems still in box shapes from their original containers, yanked from the ground, and scattered about for easy replanting.
I almost gave him credit for being thoughtful. That lasted all of two days.
After blessing and replanting over a dozen box shapes, I barricaded the beds with big logs. That ungrateful, thoughtless pig plowed through the barricades and tore up entire beds, flinging dirt and returning to the porch with a snout black and rich with fermented horse poo, garden soil and mushroom compost. His favorite blend, apparently.
Next came the deer. We busted them at dawn the other morning, grazing down the flowers I had so joyfully planted near the pond.
“Your heads will be hanging above the mantle,” I shouted, as they jumped the fence and loped ever so gracefully away. I believe there were still zinnias dangling from their chops.
So what’s a farm chick to do but savor her lily pads. They may be my last hope for some beauty among the beasts. Never to be picked, chomped, mauled or grazed.
Funny. Every time I send a text message or email to my beloved saying something profound like; ‘Hey baby…taking a break from wacking…where you be?’ or; ‘Vibing so bad from 3 hours of wacking…pick up some munchies?’ … auto-spell kicks in and turns wacking into ‘whacky’ or ‘walking’ or ‘waking’…when I just wanna say WACKING. It makes me even more WACKED OUT than I already am.
Now to be perfectly clear (as some perfectly murky politicians might say), to be whacked-out is similar (take definition #1 below for example), but certainly not the same. As defined by Merriam Webster;