“Real” author, horse extraordinaire Noah Vail
Madam looked peaked when she arrived barnside this morning. I watched as she rummaged through her tack trunk expressing displeasure over the odor. Apparently one of the couch potato cats tinkled on her new Matrix Competition saddle pad. It seemed like a minor snafu since we rarely engaged in competition beyond a Canasta tournament.
“You look pale,” I offered, trying to recall if I might have caused her pallid complexion. Just yesterday we exchanged opposing views on my trail riding decorum. In the interest of dodging old debates, I waited without comment.
“No sleep,” she replied with a groan. “Every night it’s the same. I close my Kurt Wallander novel and park it on the nightstand. Then, it’s a chocolate chip cookie before bed, followed by lights out and off to dreamland by 9:30. At least that used to be my routine,” she offered with a frown.
“Um, that sounds okay so far,” I replied hopefully. “So, what happened last night? Did you meet some Ritz Cracker crumbs under your pillow or a neighbor singing Italian opera in his backyard?” She gave me the look.
“What happened last night?” she asked. I awoke at midnight sweating like a racehorse in the last furlong at Hialeah Park,” she uttered. “And don’t even hint that it might have been just a garden variety hot flash,” she added crisply.
“More details please,” I urged, fighting back a smile at the hot flash innuendo. “
“It was the pets,” she huffed. “Every night the small pets torment me with their cozy antics. They move in after dark and boldly stake their claim—my bed. After that, it’s sleepless in Saint Paul for me.”
Frankly I suspected as much! The Hairballs, meaning the Fluff Muffin Cat and the Elderly Jack Russell, commandeered Madam’s bed the first time she offered them an afternoon nap with her.
“Please continue,” I added supportively.
“First it was the Fluff Muffin kneading my head with his clawless kitty paws. Then the JR embraced me from the other side of the bed reducing my sleeping space to mere inches. An hour later, the Fluff Muffin reappeared. This time he launched a golf ball at the closet door. About 1:00 a.m., I awakened with a paralyzed right arm. It didn’t appear to be a stroke, but the dog had draped herself over my elbow. Meanwhile, the cat finally came to rest with his head on the pillow and his longhaired domestic bottom tucked snuggly against my cheek. Then, just when I thought we were done with the pet antics, the dog tapped me on the knee. She needed to go out,” Madam sighed.
Me oh my, I mused. All I can say is she’s lucky I’m too big to fit in the house. However, I chose not to share that thought. Instead I reminded myself that a horse’s work is never done, especially when it comes to listening to his people.