*sigh*
Didn't have a lunch today, only a break. Settled down to eat, with a guy I kinda maybe have a crush on but has a girlfriend, and forgetting how sore my mouth was I started eating. I must say that I have an unfortunate medical condition of constantly humiliating myself in front of people I want to impress.
Hoping he didn't notice, I continued to eat, but much more carefully. And I've always been self-conscious about eating in front of other people. He started a conversation with me, of course I had just shoved something in my mouth. Tried desperately to not make a fool of myself.
No wonder guys I like never ask me out :(
Fish filter broke, and after a couple days of monkeying with it, I decided I need a new one. Actually got off work early, less money, but it was so slow we were going crazy, and got over to the store to get a new one about five minutes before they closed. Had bought muffin for dinner, but dropped it on ground :( Sucky day, good thing it almost over. Bought a bigger filter since the old one didn't work for crap even though it's a top brand--course it's double the price. Installed it with Dylan's 'help'.
Warnings on tv for major snowstorm tonight. Already had 30 inches this year.
Trying to look on positive side:
Dylan is a marvelous dark gray color now. His kitten coat shed out, and his fur was so short for weeks. His belly fur was like moleskin, but it grew out darker and softer. His coat has a distinct blue cast, like a Korat or a Russian Blue. It's very handsome. I always wanted a Russian Blue, and now I have a nice generic brand one without the high price tag.
Chuckie--who lives with my parents still has apparently developed a taste for expensive bread. Silly cat. He's actually whiter than the snow. He's taking advantage of his snowy 'camoflage' to make surprise attacks on my mother as she feeds the horses.
And he still jumps on the fence and reaches underneath the board to catch his tail. It's so funny, if he pulls it hard he loses his balance and falls, but he gets right back up there.
Belle is still the top cat though. (and sleeping on my feet right now as usual)
The Fabulous Rachel, Jade's trusty steed, turns 21 this year on Cinco De Mayo. She's getting a little swaybacked, but is still the fastest horse around, and no matter how short or long the race is the field will always eat our dust.
Rachel, a Fadbai daughter (if you know racing lines) has been clocked at 50 miles an hour on asphalt. She was also biting and shaking the tailgate of the pickup truck we were supposed to be following. "Move this junk-heap!"
*Jade misses her mare*
Normally I don't gallop on asphalt because it's so slippery for horses, and they could fall. But one afternoon, I was saddling Rachel when I discovered Peach the pony had gotten into the grain, and eaten a weeks worth of grain--for seven horses.
Horses cannot throw up. Eating that much grain would definitely make her colic, and for those who don't know, colic kills more horses than any other ailment. It's basically a very bad stomach ache, where the intestines can contort, twist, and die, ultimately killing the horse. It's also excrutiatingly painful. I had just lost Joe--best horse ever--to this only a few months before. Peaches was his best friend. My sis had let Peach loose to eat grass, but forgot about her. Typical.
(We often let some of our horses out to graze in the yard, it's pretty enclosed, if we are short on hay in the spring. The rest of us are smart enough to lock the grain-room first though.)
I checked her gums and eyelids and pulse like our vet taught me. Not good. She was already in early stages of shock, even though she seemed pretty perky. When I had caught her she had been sick enough that she had stopped eating, another bad sign. I fed the horses twice a day, and knew by heart how much grain should be in that bin. I hollered at sis to watch her and not let her go down (if they roll they can twist the intestine, almost certain death for those like us, who couldn't afford surgery to fix it. You have to pay cash up front. We didn't have it, that's why Joe died.)
I had driven by our friend's house on the way home and seen the vet there. I called over and got no answer. My mom had left with the car (I had just gotten my permit I think then.) Knowing that if the vet left for another call it could be hours till he could see Peaches, I looked around frantically for a solution. Bike? Rusted in place. Horses? Looked at Irish, he was retired and could barely carely an adult's weight. A few years earlier I would have taken him in a heartbeat. The buckskin, spooks at his own shadow, afraid to leave the barn. New horse? I had only had Rachel two weeks then. Hadn't galloped on her yet at all. I'd just been working on her atrocious ground manners. She hadn't been handled in ten years when I got her. She was wild and very stubborn.
I looked Mare in the eye and quietly told her Peach could die and I needed her to get me there in time, and could we put the feud aside for now and work together? I hopped on her and we galloped hard. The neighbor's was a mile away by road. She fought me a bit, but welcomed the chance to run.
Met the neighbors and another girl from our 4-H club leaving in their truck. They said that they got the message to Doc, but he needed something from home and had gone to get it, but had left her some shots of painkiller to give Peaches. Mare was blowing and dancing all over and trying to decide if she should try to graze or take off again. Neighbor told me to follow them back. Rachel and I galloped behind them. I didn't think we could keep up at first, and then I was keeping Rachel behind them just to keep her from taking me on a wild joy ride across the countryside. She was all fired up then, and I was just *barely* in control.
I could see the speedometer in the truck. At 45 mph, Rachel was bored, and then got irritated with how slow we were going. She started biting and shaking the tailgate. I'm glad the truck's owner thought it was hysterically funny too.
They sped up and Rachel matched them easily. Finally they were at the top speed for the old truck, at 50 miles an hour. They were yelling back to me how fast I was going. And on asphalt, which is slippery and hard, and terrible going for a horse!
The speedometer could be off a bit. The fastest a horse has ever been clocked officially is 47 mph. But regardless, we were going pretty damn fast!
Peach pulled through just fine. We caught her early enough. Another half hour, Doc said, and she would have been in bad shape.
After I got Rachel re-trained, she hated showing even though she had been a Class-A hunt seat horse. That is, until I gave up and we made the switch to the speed classes, where she excelled.
Hoping he didn't notice, I continued to eat, but much more carefully. And I've always been self-conscious about eating in front of other people. He started a conversation with me, of course I had just shoved something in my mouth. Tried desperately to not make a fool of myself.
No wonder guys I like never ask me out :(
Fish filter broke, and after a couple days of monkeying with it, I decided I need a new one. Actually got off work early, less money, but it was so slow we were going crazy, and got over to the store to get a new one about five minutes before they closed. Had bought muffin for dinner, but dropped it on ground :( Sucky day, good thing it almost over. Bought a bigger filter since the old one didn't work for crap even though it's a top brand--course it's double the price. Installed it with Dylan's 'help'.
Warnings on tv for major snowstorm tonight. Already had 30 inches this year.
Trying to look on positive side:
Dylan is a marvelous dark gray color now. His kitten coat shed out, and his fur was so short for weeks. His belly fur was like moleskin, but it grew out darker and softer. His coat has a distinct blue cast, like a Korat or a Russian Blue. It's very handsome. I always wanted a Russian Blue, and now I have a nice generic brand one without the high price tag.
Chuckie--who lives with my parents still has apparently developed a taste for expensive bread. Silly cat. He's actually whiter than the snow. He's taking advantage of his snowy 'camoflage' to make surprise attacks on my mother as she feeds the horses.
And he still jumps on the fence and reaches underneath the board to catch his tail. It's so funny, if he pulls it hard he loses his balance and falls, but he gets right back up there.
Belle is still the top cat though. (and sleeping on my feet right now as usual)
The Fabulous Rachel, Jade's trusty steed, turns 21 this year on Cinco De Mayo. She's getting a little swaybacked, but is still the fastest horse around, and no matter how short or long the race is the field will always eat our dust.
Rachel, a Fadbai daughter (if you know racing lines) has been clocked at 50 miles an hour on asphalt. She was also biting and shaking the tailgate of the pickup truck we were supposed to be following. "Move this junk-heap!"
*Jade misses her mare*
Normally I don't gallop on asphalt because it's so slippery for horses, and they could fall. But one afternoon, I was saddling Rachel when I discovered Peach the pony had gotten into the grain, and eaten a weeks worth of grain--for seven horses.
Horses cannot throw up. Eating that much grain would definitely make her colic, and for those who don't know, colic kills more horses than any other ailment. It's basically a very bad stomach ache, where the intestines can contort, twist, and die, ultimately killing the horse. It's also excrutiatingly painful. I had just lost Joe--best horse ever--to this only a few months before. Peaches was his best friend. My sis had let Peach loose to eat grass, but forgot about her. Typical.
(We often let some of our horses out to graze in the yard, it's pretty enclosed, if we are short on hay in the spring. The rest of us are smart enough to lock the grain-room first though.)
I checked her gums and eyelids and pulse like our vet taught me. Not good. She was already in early stages of shock, even though she seemed pretty perky. When I had caught her she had been sick enough that she had stopped eating, another bad sign. I fed the horses twice a day, and knew by heart how much grain should be in that bin. I hollered at sis to watch her and not let her go down (if they roll they can twist the intestine, almost certain death for those like us, who couldn't afford surgery to fix it. You have to pay cash up front. We didn't have it, that's why Joe died.)
I had driven by our friend's house on the way home and seen the vet there. I called over and got no answer. My mom had left with the car (I had just gotten my permit I think then.) Knowing that if the vet left for another call it could be hours till he could see Peaches, I looked around frantically for a solution. Bike? Rusted in place. Horses? Looked at Irish, he was retired and could barely carely an adult's weight. A few years earlier I would have taken him in a heartbeat. The buckskin, spooks at his own shadow, afraid to leave the barn. New horse? I had only had Rachel two weeks then. Hadn't galloped on her yet at all. I'd just been working on her atrocious ground manners. She hadn't been handled in ten years when I got her. She was wild and very stubborn.
I looked Mare in the eye and quietly told her Peach could die and I needed her to get me there in time, and could we put the feud aside for now and work together? I hopped on her and we galloped hard. The neighbor's was a mile away by road. She fought me a bit, but welcomed the chance to run.
Met the neighbors and another girl from our 4-H club leaving in their truck. They said that they got the message to Doc, but he needed something from home and had gone to get it, but had left her some shots of painkiller to give Peaches. Mare was blowing and dancing all over and trying to decide if she should try to graze or take off again. Neighbor told me to follow them back. Rachel and I galloped behind them. I didn't think we could keep up at first, and then I was keeping Rachel behind them just to keep her from taking me on a wild joy ride across the countryside. She was all fired up then, and I was just *barely* in control.
I could see the speedometer in the truck. At 45 mph, Rachel was bored, and then got irritated with how slow we were going. She started biting and shaking the tailgate. I'm glad the truck's owner thought it was hysterically funny too.
They sped up and Rachel matched them easily. Finally they were at the top speed for the old truck, at 50 miles an hour. They were yelling back to me how fast I was going. And on asphalt, which is slippery and hard, and terrible going for a horse!
The speedometer could be off a bit. The fastest a horse has ever been clocked officially is 47 mph. But regardless, we were going pretty damn fast!
Peach pulled through just fine. We caught her early enough. Another half hour, Doc said, and she would have been in bad shape.
After I got Rachel re-trained, she hated showing even though she had been a Class-A hunt seat horse. That is, until I gave up and we made the switch to the speed classes, where she excelled.