Thursday, April 06, 2017
Spitting Hairs and Eating Dust
Pretty much every sweater, glove and coat I wear these days is covered its own coat of white or red hair-----some mine, mostly Lily's or Lefty's.
It's that time of year where the horses' coats let loose of seemingly endless amounts of winter hair, sometimes overloading the brush with every swath.
And, the need to remove hairy globs from the brush every minute or so can happen during several sessions of combing or brushing. Horses seem to shed in increments, depending on the weather.
The location for where the combing or brushing of horses occurs can be a key factor also.
Not a great idea to help one's horse with the shedding process while standing in the path of a strong wind.
I often go into the mucky barnyard with my comb, to check on Lily and to give both horses another grooming session while they nibble on their hay.
As they nibble on their hay, I often nibble on pieces of hair, not because I like nibbling on horse hair, but more because I often have to stand down wind to groom at least one side of the horse.
When that happens, hair is blowing every which direction, looking for a place to land. I'm guessing the moisture of human lips and human eyes tends to attract horse hair because, without fail, several devious hairs will land in my eyes, tickle my nose and find nesting place on my lips.
That's when the fun begins. My initial reaction is to either grin and bear it and keep on combing or try to wipe it away before it drives me totally insane.
As many times as horse hair has landed in my face, I always hold out hope that maybe one swipe of a glove will magically remove the dang stuff.
As many times as I have groomed horses, I know that the fingers of my gloves are coated with hundreds of hairs coming off the horse or the comb.
Still, I give rubbing away the newly deposited face hairs a try, only to add to my discomfort.
Next, comes the blowing and spitting. If only all those follicles would just go away with a couple of intense blows or forceful spits.
Horse hairs, though, are much smarter than humans.
They've gone to velcro school, and they have become perfect "cling-ons."
The result of my lazy methods of removing horse hairs via spitting or blowing often leads to a worse problem: a hair or two has found its way inside my mouth, touching down on near my throat where my tongue can't quite reach it.
Some hairs even invade my nostrils----probably thanks to Mother Nature's wind and my own wind, formed during the blowing and spitting session.
All this is going on and horses continue to blissfully munch at their hay with no appreciation, whatsoever, for the sacrifices I'm enduring while making their bodies feel better.
I guess that's a good thing because they're not going anywhere, which gives me time to pinch the fingers of my gloves, pull them off and then go to work on my nose, mouth, eyes and that errant hair driving me nuts far inside my mouth.
Many a time, I've completed my human hair removing task and gone back to removing hair from the horse, only to discover that I missed a maverick hair which is now swimming around in my saliva.
It's an irritating cycle for me, but the horses enjoy it, and they usually look a little better than they did when I started grooming.
In fact, generally I'm even be able to able to admire my grooming job my while doing projects around the yard for the next hour or so.
But the story does not end----especially this time of year.
I may go inside for a potty break or sit down and sip on a cup of coffee to ensure a future potty break.
More often than not, when I walk out the garage door while picking off the latest coat of horse hair from my garden gloves and look toward the barnyard, I know my work and sacrifice has gone in vain.
They have rolled in the mud, and they ARE truly disgusting.
The other day after grooming both horses in the morning I drove over and visited my sisters.
I returned to discover that my leopard Appaloosa Lily had turned into a pinto of sorts.
Black on one side with no spots, white on the other with red spots.
Of course, her mud bath was still gooey, which meant it was useless to even try cleaning her because it's too cold for the hose, brushing the wet mud would only add me to the dirt-bag party.
Since I cannot stand to take the horses into the barn for the night caked in mud, I throw a rope over their necks, and comb them down once more.
Just minutes after they're in the stalls, happily eating their dinner, my clothes have gone to the washer and I'm sitting in the bathtub grooming and scrubbing myself, especially my eye sockets and inside my nostrils where all that dust loves to land.
Never-ending cycle. Ah, spring! Ah, horse hair!
Can people get hairballs?