Main Question of the Day...

How many poor decisions must Reggie make before getting a clue?

Too many, would be my answer at the moment. Don't get me wrong, I really like Reggie overall, but he has "personal space" issues when someone comes in his stall. He thought he had me pegged when I was picking out his stall; I turned with a forkfull of horsey "presents" and he took the opportunity to bite my rear. Fortunately for me, full hands does not equal no punishment. He got a foot in the ribs and a roar, and he meekly retreated to a corner to pout through the surprised look on his face. She grew another arm instantly...? This horse is also starting to understand my very silent and very serious communication... The Look. He also gets now that if he receives The Look along with Crossed Arms, he'd better shut up before he ends up as a bedspread, fringe and all.

Also, the night before, Reggie decided that he thought I hadn't put enough hay in his stall and snaked his (not so little) head over his window at me, ears pinned and teeth bared. It was almost 10 PM, and I was in NO moon to tolerate his face making. I whirled around, waving my arms and yelled "Booga booga booga!" He snatched himself back so fast he smacked himself in the back of the head on the window frame, then bounced his nose around a couple times trying to turn around before his head had fully withdrawn... silly pony.

To sum up my past couple of days, see this little prayer of the Barngirl.

Dear Lord,

Thank you that Rosie's eye hasn't gotten infected yet, and that she's being good about having me stick ointment in it four times a day. Thank you that Aries didn't carry me more than ten feet when he decided that whirling around and trotting off was a good idea while I was wrapped around his head giving him medicine. Thank you that we found David's shoe, and please help us to find Red's shoe. Thank you that Tyrone only got one mouthful of medicine dribbled on my baseball cap before I noticed. Thank you that only four bales of hay fell on me. Thank you that the big arthritic draft mare didn't catch me up when she stumbled and tripped on the hill. Thank you that the vet was only an hour late, and that we could find a second farrier quickly so a student could actually have her lesson tonight. Thank you that one of our trainers didn't need stitches, and that we've only had four storms so far this week. Please don't let the coffee grinder spit Robaxin tablet pieces on me ever again; it tastes bad, and tell the barn cat that dead mice do not belong in the sink in the tack room.

Thank you that I'm still in one piece, and managing triage in an invalid yard of horses makes me happy, because that's how horses go and I have to convince myself that I like giving medicine four times a day for thirty days.