How It Feels To Be A Kleenex

Here’s a riddle:

Q: What’s black, soft, has “MISSOURI” embroidered across it, and makes a most excellent facial tissue for a horse with allergies?

A: Apparently my sweatshirt.

After a six month hiatus from volunteering with the organization that provides subsidized therapeutic riding lessons, I resumed my duties again this past Saturday. I wish I could say that I planned my return in conjunction with a temporary reprieve in the abnormally harsh winter temperatures we’ve been suffering, but the truth is, like Santa Claus, I stopped believing in the mythical “accurate weather forecast” many years ago. As a result, I quit consulting weather authorities and so I had no idea the weather would be so wonderful. Imagine my surprise, then, when I showed up bundled in layers of clothing as though it was 20 degrees outside. By the third trail ride with the kids, I’m almost positive my excessive body heat could have supplied enough energy to sustain a small third world country for at least a week. Looking on the bright side, I got to burn a few extra calories that day, which is never a bad thing, right?

While my health was in tip-top shape on Saturday, not all creatures at the stable could boast such a claim, to include one horse I ended up working with that day, Jasmine. It seems as though she was suffering from a bout of allergies that day, with which I can completely commiserate, though the manner in which she handled said allergies left much to be desired. At least it seemed that way to me or, more specifically, my poor sweatshirt. Jasmine, bless her heart, spent two hours sneezing on me, rubbing her snout and her eyes all over the front of my University of Missouri sweatshirt, leaving abstract trails of gooey snot and eye boogers all over the front of me. After one particular sneeze, she managed to spit particles from her pre-lesson meal all over me. Sure, it’s just grass and/or hay, but last I’d checked neither Paris nor Milan have yet to incorporate chewed up food bits into their Spring ’09 line-ups. The whole time I’m thinking, “can I get some love for some horsey Claritin!?!?!?!” That’s OK, though. The dirtier I get with the horses, the more I can gross T-man out when I get home. The fits of laughter I get from watching him wretch in disgust are totally worth some coughed up clover on my shirt! I only regret that I can’t share ALL of the weird, gross, smelly things that happen around the horses with T-man. Like the time I was cleaning a horse’s rear hooves and he passed gas right on top of me. Nothing like concentrated methane shot down on you from eight inches over your head. Ugh.

In other not-so-comical news, I learned of the unfortunate passing of my favorite horse, Callie. You may remember Callie from my 12 June 08 posting. She was the horse that I was forced to violate, I mean, bathe and who educated me on the existence of butt cheeks in non-human mammalia. Apparently she had some sort of “mass” that they were unable to treat or diagnose and she passed quietly a few weeks ago. Callie was a great horse. She was the very first horse I got to know; she was the first horse I ever groomed or fed carrots to and she suffered my torturous tacking inexperience with unending patience – any horse that doesn’t head butt you after slamming the bit against their teeth a bunch of times should probably be canonized. I learned a great deal from her in the short amount of time I had with her and will always remember her fondly.

In other not-comical-yet-not-excessively-depressing-news, I am still not a homeowner. That’s another post for another time. Stay tuned – updates soon to come on that subject.

That’s all for now.