Rocket Goat

Can I just talk for a minute, about the goat? My loving but stupid friend Nandy started talking about how the horse was lonely, and needed a friend. But we have no money, would like to have another horse, half-dead variety, that I could put the kids on, but that seemed pricey, even half-dead has to eat. So we thought, okay, let's get a goat. There's nothing I like better than staying up late and basking in the Farm and Garden section of craigslist. You can wipe pictures of farm animals all over you and no one will know. It's almost like living in the country, without having to be too far away from a Panda Express. Anyway, so I of course find the free goat that someone is getting rid of, and it looks cute, not stupid like some of them, and as I'm planning to get it I'm getting this kind of bad feeling in my stomach, because didn't we have goats here for like a year and weren't they so terrible that I'd fling them over the fence when they got in my way? But ignore that, because no, that must be wrong, and hey shopping is fun. So I pile a bunch of kids in the car, we go see the goat on this gorgeous tree-lined street in Alta Dena. There's the big sort of doofy goat (ours) and there's a tiny little dog-like goat (the one we should have gotten) that they're keeping. Well, free is free, we heft the goat into the trunk, and then stop to get gas. This turns out to be the best part of the goat experience. The goat is EXCELLENT in the car. Just lays down, not a peep, even seems to like straightening up the random pieces of hay back there for no extra charge. We get the goat home, the dog immediately wants to EAT the goat. The horse is so happy to see the goat, he is running after it, every place it goes, Dewey goes. The goat finally VAULTS itself over the barn fence. Not to get away, but perhaps just to show us that this goat is not a regular goat, this is a ROCKET GOAT. The goat has no real interest in staying back with the horse, which is devastating to the horse, who has fallen in desperate love and has no dignity about proclaiming it loudly and plaintively. The goat wants to live in the house. We wrestle the goat back in to the barn, the goat sails back over the fence. The goat has the personality of Donald Trump. I'm going wherever I want, I don't care about you, I'm going to figure out the doggy door and then I'm going to be brushing my teeth in your bathroom. Basically, the goat's name should have been "MOVE OVER." So, last night at 8 at night, I am with Nathan in the car, driving the goat back to Alta Dena. Again, a very pleasant ride. My nerves are shattered. The horse was shattered, heartbroken as his fresh buddy left, but then when I got home and checked on him in the barn, Dewey was eating hay and looked at me like "What goat?" Moral: Wait, save money, and get the 2nd horse you can actually use.

New Years, Same Old Farm

Two things - a Dewey Update, and the Chicken Massacre. A few days ago, SOMETHING got into the chicken yard and ate 8 of our chickens. Four were only a few months old, more like nuggets, and the other 4 of course were the good layers. That's alot of chicken. I haven't even ordered that much chicken from Pollo Loco at one time. Somebody was hungry. Anyway, now I have to lock them in at night (there is a dungeon) and let them out in the morning. The bad part is, I was getting a little sick of chickens, and even thought of getting rid of them, and then the massacre. Did I cause it?? It's just that I would go into the yard and they'd RUSH at me, screaming like Beatles fans. Wheresthefoodwheresthefood - it was obnoxious. It was worse than my own kids. Anyway, all's silent on the chicken front now. The 5 remaining hens, they all look mutely terrified. They did see their friends swallowed whole. They're getting counseling. I believe the dog is conducting afternoon workshops entitled, "Why I Love to Eat of the Trashcan," which should help.

And in other less ghastly news, Dewey had 3 weeks of irregular regular riding while the kids were off school. The not so psycho neighbor let us use her arena and it's been a godsend. Dewey can go over there and run around and let off energy, and I can ride in there and work him over poles and tarps and stuff. I'm also learning how to trim his hooves which is really cool, to learn how to keep his feet strong and healthy and barefoot. It's my new farmer trait. I'm hoping to move DIE-rectly into overalls for the remainder of my life, leaning on fences and chewing on a piece of straw, once I have hoof trimming down to a science. Dewey has also learned to canter, and is getting good at stopping, and a nice steady rhythm to his gaits. He's becoming a horse I can put the kids on in the neighbor's arena (maybe by spring), and teach them on. He's pretty reliable. Very sweet and tries hard. Just young and doofy sometimes, he especially doesn't like trash cans on their SIDES. That really bothers him. He's been here almost 4 months, and the more we do, the better he is. Two young girls are going to be riding him once a week (to give my butt a break) and they're donating a bale of hay each time they come, so his hay will be paid for. I think it'll be good for all of us, we'll see if it works out. News from the Momish front.

That's What the Trail is Like

Dewey and I went with the psychologist who has the white horse on a trail ride the other day. I've been scared to go, scared is in fact the way I do everything, so even though I'm still surprised to SEE scared every day, she is in fact, assigned to me. This trail I had never been on, and thank God no one told me about it. She says on the way in, well, it's a little narrow, and there are bushes that will scratch us on the way through - but I thought, well, I'm in it now. There's a horse in front of us, so that's the brakes. He can't barrel ahead. All I have to do is try and sit deeply, and remember to breathe. Turns out Dewey is an AMAZING trail horse. We went through a river up to his knees, with a rocky bottom. We went throught it like four times, because we had to keep crossing through it, because this trail was like a video game, it zig zagged, there were low hanging branches, we had to bend way down to our horses' necks to avoid getting knocked off, we had to turn tightly around stumps and bushes and scraggly trees - we were on a deer trail in the thick of the woods. Even though you could hear Wentworth Blvd and the cars going by about four horse lengths up the hill and away from us, down in the river, we were in Maine. Dewey will do anything you ask of him. He takes in anxious situations by looking at them with clear, thinking eyes, and then listening to you. If you say go ahead, he GOES AHEAD. He turned and angled and trudged and bent around tree branches and went down hills and up hills and we didn't get stuck on our stirrups or banged off or poked into the sky - we got through it. After a trechearous section he would sometimes say what I felt - it's like he held his breath to get through a tangle of trees and vines, and when we got to a more open section, he would sigh, a short sigh like "OKAY. Shew. Did you see that? Okay. Whew. Did it." I felt the same way he did. He just expressed it better. When he sighs, I see him. I see what he's thinking! I take a breath. I relax my legs. We are almost the same person. Both hostages of the trail, wide-eyed little orphan Annies. Screwed up our courage. Pummelled through. Took a breath. Saw we were somewhere beautiful, floating river, orange red yellow fall leaves. Pummelled again. Breathed again. Beautiful again. That's what the trail is like. This horse gives me courage and confidence. He is sure, usually, most of the time, that we can get through it. And when he's not sure, I get down off of him, give him a carrot and lead him through the scary parts. Then he's sure. Cause we trade off being brave. And we're together.

Dewey the Magnificent

LOVING Dewey. Still scared everytime I ride, because of a bolting draft mare that we won't mention, but Dewey restores my confidence little by little each day. By just being himself. He doesn't even know he does it. He's just a big gawky teenager horse. But the clearer and stronger I get with him, the more he appreciates my guidance. And he loves a carrot. Plus I drove to Fillmore and got an amazing saddle for $100 which helps. He's not in pain, I'm not in pain, it's a good thing. All the little things add up. Now I just have to get a job.

Open Land

I am thirsty for farmland. I'm doing a puzzle of a barn, a rolling green field and a pond. Because when I finish the puzzle, I plan to move IN to it. It is hard to be a farmer in the city. Especially when you're a Mind Farmer, and all you want to do is see the animals in the field, and pet everything, and feed everything, and write about everything, and not grow anything (okay, strawberries would be good).

I am thirsty for open, empty land. But I have Dewey, and the kids, and B, and we live indoors. I have to figure out how to get where I'm heading next. Make a living while stoking my open land needs. Momish.

Stormy Weather

My advice to people who want to train a PMU horse - don't bother. It's pretty un-PC of me to say, (to use alot of abbreviations in one sentence), but after working my butt off for a entire year with a PMU and having average results, and now working 30 days with a 4 year Thoroughbred and having stellar results, it's just not worth the effort. It could be that mares are just really difficult. Geldings are more even-tempered. And Maggie came SO far. But I never felt safe on her. Where Dewey is like a lifeboat in a storm. Maggie was just the storm. True, Dewey is looking all around at the dolphins and the buoys and the waves and waving to friends like a teenager, but when I ask him to focus, he doesn't give me the finger. I learned that I'm not allowed to own mares ever again. And Dewey is a rainbow.

My Little Pony

(Waffles, in better days) My really wonderful friend Caroline offered me her pony when our other pony Waffles turned out to be an a**hole. Then it turns out all ponies are a**holes. Her pony was the fourth (and last) in a long line of awful ponies that I have tried and rejected. I had a stomachache all weekend while she lived with us, because she looked like a Barbie troll (long flowing blonde hair on a body that looked like a fat banana). I kept thinking she was going to break in half, her stomach cracking into the ground, she was so U shaped. When we finally got on her, on what turned out to be the ride back to returning her to Caroline, she just started bucking like her feet were on fire. It has cured me, this need for a short horse. I will in fact, if I can ever afford a buddy for Dewey, the sweetest horse alive, find a regular, gentle quarter horse, that is not a pony. That does not have a need to skyrocket its rider into space. A horse like Dewey, who likes people, who likes riding, a gelding that is happy being a gelding and not having any other purpose other than eating and being a good friend. I learned, I think, that the pony that bucked me off and broke my hand was an old, mean mare. That every pony I've gotten on has tried to buck me off. Hopefully that I'm not the bad rider I started thinking I was, but that (with Dewey's help), I'm learning that one must choose one's rides carefully. Taller, gentler. Geldings. All key ingredients.