Hooboy..
Okay, so, taking a page out of the Kachoo Guide to Livejournals, I give you: Bitching About Stupid Boarders.
So, there's this neurotic woman and her two kids who ride at my barn. Well, I don't know if what they do could be considered "riding." It's scary.. it's embarrassing.. it's just not right. Anyway, not the point. They suck, their horses are scary and forever getting hurt (but they bounce back! Their Appy pony - who they insist is a roan QH but we all know that roans don't look like THAT and is a snowflake App, which is a damn big improvement over a QH any day, anyway - got hit by a minivan. And walked away to graze in the median. Shit you not, road scuff on his side and everything.) and the mother considers me this source of free coaching and information because, well, I have a pulse and the twins are smart enough to avoid her now. Ugh.
So, she's pinned me down for an hour one night last winter and made me go over saddle fit on her nasty ass paint Arabian whatever thing, and her daughter. None of the damn saddles came close to fitting the horse (they were all wide trees, this horse is a walking coat rack), and they were all too small of her daughter. But, NO. She MUST buy one of these - lovely saddles, all a fetching shade of green or rotting fabric, all bargain priced at $50 or less, broken tree included. It was horrible. I kept telling her that really, she could find something good - hell, I bought two damn-near-new County Pro-Fits, which fit Toga and Fat Mare perfectly, for about $400 a piece. But Noooo.. Anyway, neither here nor there. Horse is backsore and kid's position still sucks, btw.
Another night (always at night, after I've worked then ridden all 3 of my yaks and am dead to the world) she insisted on a farrier clinic, to find out why my horses' shoes were weird. Wait, back up - she coaches the sketchy 4H club nearby. Middle of a rally or a meeting or a conglomerate or whatever they're called, and I'm walking Toga out to the ring. She stops us dead with the "Your horse is on fire" tone and I wheel around expecting to see blood, lots of blood. She gets this serious look on her face. "You need to have a talk with your farrier. He put.. your hind shoes.. on BACKWARD!! Did you not notice?!" Everything in my power not to laugh my ass of at this stank bitch - Dude, I say, and lift Toga's hind leg. They're EGG BAR shoes you moron - they're for support. Get the hell off my leg and worry about your sketch farrier who couldn't make a matched set of shoes to save his life, not my boy's feet.
Anyway, so she wants to know ALL about shoeing and shit this one night, so I humor her because Toga and Kate's feet are easily accessible. Then she wants me to look at her ghetto horses' feet and tell her what she should suggest to the farrier next time. How the hell should I know, nutjob - and you actually think I'm walking out to their pastures at night? Maybe, "Hey, skippy, try to put the same SIZE shoes on this one, huh?" (yeah, I'm bitter - her farrier left Fat Mare 3 legged lame once by putting two completely different size shoes on her front feet, cutting the foot down to squeeze it in. Thank god he sucks and the shoes fell off fast. Loser.)
Okay, so finally on to today's chapter. Fat Mare had an ultrasound scheduled for today, to see how far along we are in the Quest for Spawn of Fat Mare (answer: not far enough. Come into heat, damn it!) So, Crazy Woman and Kids pull up before the vet gets there, and I'm already groaning. She brought her fucking dogs with her, too - not even proper dogs, little yappy dropkick things - and proceeds to shove them in Fat Mare and Toga's faces. I tell her, "They really don't like dogs." "Nonsense! See! Toga loves them!" Toga shows his love by wheeling around, eyes bugging out, trying to climb out of his stall? Who knew!
So, thank GOD, the kids are out galloping their ponies around like fools when the vet comes up. Kate is Not Amused about being ultrasounded, and is quite embarrassed about standing with her butt hanging out of her stall, and the vet, well, hanging out of her butt. So, RIGHT when Matt (vet) is finishing up, the kids come into the barn. Child on Not-A-QH screams, "What do you think you're DOING TO HER!?" Jesus tapdancing Christ. Mother comes flying in behind them.. Holy god, this is getting bad. Kate's getting upset, is breaking my arm and biting my belt trying to hide, and, oh good, here come the freaking dogs. THAT was what was missing!
So, Matt and another new vet are there, trying to explain to me the SOMEWHAT important sequence of events that we'll follow in the next week so that this HIDEOUSLY expensive venture of breeding Fat Mare will go smoothly. But, NO. She cracks jokes with the vet (who ignored her, but she kept a'talking) and keeps talking about HER and HER horses. Then, and this is when I almost clawed her eyes out, she starts joking about MY mare.
Okay, the best way to piss me off? Insult my mare. You can say anything you want about me or my family (I'll probably agree), but the INSTANT you pick on that mare, I'm out for blood. She was trying to be Barn Supreme Ruler for the new vet, telling her about everyone. Said that Fat Mare had her "Appaloosa moments" (which, btw, I liked to refer to as Intelligence, thankyouverymuch) and is moody, which she isn't, and we all at the barn call her Spot. If anyone called that horse Spot, I would have their tongue as a bookmark before the hour was out. Then, I swear, she was about to say something about the tail, and I was going to get very, very nasty.
So, she needs to die. Matt tries to tell me the sequence of events - this happens on day 1 of heat, this on day 2. She keeps talking to him, RIGHT next to me, about some shit so I can barely hear her. Die, bitch, die!
I mean, REALLY. The man has his hand stuffed deep inside my horse - safe to assume this vet check is about HER. He doesn't want to hear about your damn ugly pony. If he does, YOU may pay the call charge. Whorebitchdie!
Argh, boarders suck. Between this one, and the one who let her nasty little dog chase Toga across the farm for sport - thus stuffing him back in a stall for ANOTHER month, and putting me months behind on his rehab (and not one word about paying those vet bills, either. Stank!) I'm about ready for my own barn. ARGH.
So, there's this neurotic woman and her two kids who ride at my barn. Well, I don't know if what they do could be considered "riding." It's scary.. it's embarrassing.. it's just not right. Anyway, not the point. They suck, their horses are scary and forever getting hurt (but they bounce back! Their Appy pony - who they insist is a roan QH but we all know that roans don't look like THAT and is a snowflake App, which is a damn big improvement over a QH any day, anyway - got hit by a minivan. And walked away to graze in the median. Shit you not, road scuff on his side and everything.) and the mother considers me this source of free coaching and information because, well, I have a pulse and the twins are smart enough to avoid her now. Ugh.
So, she's pinned me down for an hour one night last winter and made me go over saddle fit on her nasty ass paint Arabian whatever thing, and her daughter. None of the damn saddles came close to fitting the horse (they were all wide trees, this horse is a walking coat rack), and they were all too small of her daughter. But, NO. She MUST buy one of these - lovely saddles, all a fetching shade of green or rotting fabric, all bargain priced at $50 or less, broken tree included. It was horrible. I kept telling her that really, she could find something good - hell, I bought two damn-near-new County Pro-Fits, which fit Toga and Fat Mare perfectly, for about $400 a piece. But Noooo.. Anyway, neither here nor there. Horse is backsore and kid's position still sucks, btw.
Another night (always at night, after I've worked then ridden all 3 of my yaks and am dead to the world) she insisted on a farrier clinic, to find out why my horses' shoes were weird. Wait, back up - she coaches the sketchy 4H club nearby. Middle of a rally or a meeting or a conglomerate or whatever they're called, and I'm walking Toga out to the ring. She stops us dead with the "Your horse is on fire" tone and I wheel around expecting to see blood, lots of blood. She gets this serious look on her face. "You need to have a talk with your farrier. He put.. your hind shoes.. on BACKWARD!! Did you not notice?!" Everything in my power not to laugh my ass of at this stank bitch - Dude, I say, and lift Toga's hind leg. They're EGG BAR shoes you moron - they're for support. Get the hell off my leg and worry about your sketch farrier who couldn't make a matched set of shoes to save his life, not my boy's feet.
Anyway, so she wants to know ALL about shoeing and shit this one night, so I humor her because Toga and Kate's feet are easily accessible. Then she wants me to look at her ghetto horses' feet and tell her what she should suggest to the farrier next time. How the hell should I know, nutjob - and you actually think I'm walking out to their pastures at night? Maybe, "Hey, skippy, try to put the same SIZE shoes on this one, huh?" (yeah, I'm bitter - her farrier left Fat Mare 3 legged lame once by putting two completely different size shoes on her front feet, cutting the foot down to squeeze it in. Thank god he sucks and the shoes fell off fast. Loser.)
Okay, so finally on to today's chapter. Fat Mare had an ultrasound scheduled for today, to see how far along we are in the Quest for Spawn of Fat Mare (answer: not far enough. Come into heat, damn it!) So, Crazy Woman and Kids pull up before the vet gets there, and I'm already groaning. She brought her fucking dogs with her, too - not even proper dogs, little yappy dropkick things - and proceeds to shove them in Fat Mare and Toga's faces. I tell her, "They really don't like dogs." "Nonsense! See! Toga loves them!" Toga shows his love by wheeling around, eyes bugging out, trying to climb out of his stall? Who knew!
So, thank GOD, the kids are out galloping their ponies around like fools when the vet comes up. Kate is Not Amused about being ultrasounded, and is quite embarrassed about standing with her butt hanging out of her stall, and the vet, well, hanging out of her butt. So, RIGHT when Matt (vet) is finishing up, the kids come into the barn. Child on Not-A-QH screams, "What do you think you're DOING TO HER!?" Jesus tapdancing Christ. Mother comes flying in behind them.. Holy god, this is getting bad. Kate's getting upset, is breaking my arm and biting my belt trying to hide, and, oh good, here come the freaking dogs. THAT was what was missing!
So, Matt and another new vet are there, trying to explain to me the SOMEWHAT important sequence of events that we'll follow in the next week so that this HIDEOUSLY expensive venture of breeding Fat Mare will go smoothly. But, NO. She cracks jokes with the vet (who ignored her, but she kept a'talking) and keeps talking about HER and HER horses. Then, and this is when I almost clawed her eyes out, she starts joking about MY mare.
Okay, the best way to piss me off? Insult my mare. You can say anything you want about me or my family (I'll probably agree), but the INSTANT you pick on that mare, I'm out for blood. She was trying to be Barn Supreme Ruler for the new vet, telling her about everyone. Said that Fat Mare had her "Appaloosa moments" (which, btw, I liked to refer to as Intelligence, thankyouverymuch) and is moody, which she isn't, and we all at the barn call her Spot. If anyone called that horse Spot, I would have their tongue as a bookmark before the hour was out. Then, I swear, she was about to say something about the tail, and I was going to get very, very nasty.
So, she needs to die. Matt tries to tell me the sequence of events - this happens on day 1 of heat, this on day 2. She keeps talking to him, RIGHT next to me, about some shit so I can barely hear her. Die, bitch, die!
I mean, REALLY. The man has his hand stuffed deep inside my horse - safe to assume this vet check is about HER. He doesn't want to hear about your damn ugly pony. If he does, YOU may pay the call charge. Whorebitchdie!
Argh, boarders suck. Between this one, and the one who let her nasty little dog chase Toga across the farm for sport - thus stuffing him back in a stall for ANOTHER month, and putting me months behind on his rehab (and not one word about paying those vet bills, either. Stank!) I'm about ready for my own barn. ARGH.