I never did get back to posting yesterday. I was too tired. The events of the day caused that. It started early, 4:30 a.m., to be exact. That was just after I brewed up a pot of coffee. I'd already taken my bath and figured I'd have that first sip right after feeding Miss Lily who spent the night in the barn because of the upcoming horse show.
Or, so I thought.
Miss Lily did not spend the night in the barn. She did not spend the night in her barnyard pasture. I really have no idea where Miss Lily spent Friday night, but I do know a few details. She tore two bales of alfalfa apart and scattered them in the aisle way of the barn. She pooped on the lawn next to the road and near the flower bed underneath the signposts.
Beyond that, I don't know where she was. Ever looked for a lost horse, dressed in black stable sheet and black squeezie in the dark? Bill and I have. You don't find lost horses dressed in black in the darkness of early morning. So, for about 90 minutes, Bill and I, in separate rigs, drove the country roads and drove the trails throughout our woods to find nothing.
It's not easy looking for lost horses when all your neighbors are trying to snooze through until daylight. Not many people are up and about between 4:30 and 6 p.m. on Saturday mornings in Selle----except maybe the paper lady. And, she had not seen a horse dressed in black. She did take our phone number though. None of the places where horses hang out in the neighborhood had any strange-looking visitors.
While looking for a lost horse dressed in black which is supposed to be down at the county fairgrounds at 7 a.m., a lot of awful thoughts go through one's mind---especially after all the bad and sad horse stuff that's happened at the Lovestead this past summer. The thoughts kept getting worse and even embarrassing, like "how am I gonna tell Diane Rice, my editor, that Miss December for the 2008 Appaloosa calendar had gotten hit by a car and died in some ditch?"
That's how bad the thoughts got, along with "I don't deserve to have horses." I had checked on Miss Lily around 10 p.m. after the big honkin' lightning, thunder and rain storm that had blown through the area. She was doing fine, eating her hay and leaving a couple of manure piles in her stall, which I removed. I thought about shutting the big barn door, but it was muggy in the barn, and I figured that blanket and squeezie kept her warm enough. She'd need some cold night air circulating through the barn.
So, I left the barn door open. I won't do that again.
Miss Lily was gone, gone, gone, and she was not responding to my calls or the rattling of that water bucket lined with grain. It was an awful 90 minutes, to say the least. No horse tracks on no dirt roads, just that pile of poop near the signpost. On a brighter note, no dead bodies with hooves in the air in any ditches along our travels. As dawn turned to daylight, Bill and I were both traveling one more time west on Selle Road to the spot where skid marks still show the last time Miss Lily wandered off and mercilessly lived when the Woods' humongous dump truck came to a grinding halt.
And, there she was, the black alien with four feet, making her way through the deep, wet ditch grass toward the fence where two bays were waiting to play nosie with her over the wire.
"Thank God!" I thought. She will make it to the show. She will live another day. I didn't even care if my pants were wet up to the crotch as I approached her with halter and grain bucket. We trotted home for about half a mile down Selle Road and then South Center Valley. Lily went back to her stall for a few moments of rest from her all-night haunt around the countryside. Before going to the house for that first sip of coffee, I grabbed a piece of twine and tied the latch which she had maneuvered open with her educated lips.
She went to the show. She acted badly but later settled down for my sister Laurie who showed her. Miss Lily placed last in a class of four. Disappointing yes, but she's alive, and, thankfully, I don't have to explain to Diane at the Appaloosa office why Miss December 2008 died on one dark night in a ditch.
2 comments:
Very glad to hear Miss Lily is okay. Your experience reminds me of our appaloosa mare, Rusty, who left the confines of her pasture one night. Nine days later we found her in Selle! This was back in the early 50's.
Karen (from Dover)
Now there was a horse with a story to tell. Maybe we need to get them ankle bracelets so we can track 'em down easier, especially at night.
By the way, while at the fair horse show on Saturday, I enjoyed a simultaneous "old-timers" sighting. Carolyn Culley Brown and Ruth Larson---seems like every year those faces from the old fairgrounds horse shows come out of the woodwork. In both cases, they were not riding, just herding grandkids.
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