The Unplanned Dismount

I was peacefully sleeping in this morning following last night’s late rerun of Lonesome Dove. When I finally opened one eye, there stood Madam at my door leveling a mighty gaze in my direction. No words, just a stare that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Then I remembered. This could have something to do with our recent incident.

“Noah, you’ve had a month of lollygagging in the pasture with your cribbage chums,” she said. “Honestly, you’re looking a tad soft around the edges from all your rest and relaxation. Don’t you think it’s time for us to get back to work?”

The soft around the edges part seemed a bit harsh. True, I’ve not over exercised since our Labor Day mishap. But, that’s because Madam has been out of service. And by the way, I’ve been lollygagging, not with my cribbage chums, but with our new girl guests who happen to prefer canasta.

As I recall, Labor Day also began with Madam at my door, though that day she offered up a speech about her week of woes: two root canals on the same tooth (the dentist’s error); the Fluff Muffin cat’s poo poo on the new carpet; and a leaky chimney cap that resulted in a carbuncle on her living room ceiling.

But it was our ride that morning that I’ll not forget anytime soon. It began pleasantly enough, a friendly little group stretching our legs in the indoor arena. Then, just as we were getting warmed up, a couple of drag racing barn swallows winged in the open door and rocketed past my right ear. Yes, it startled me. And, yes, I slipped and took a nasty header, a spill that Omar keeps describing as my pitiful pratfall. Anyhoo, the embarrassing moment got worse when we discovered that the lump I landed on turned out to be Madam. I came out of the ordeal without a scratch. Madam was not so lucky.

That happened over a month ago. Since then, I’ve endured countless equine agility jokes. Meanwhile, Madam’s bruises and fractured collarbone continue to mend, though her personal appearance has not fared as well. Saggy warm up pants, pasta Bolognese- stained t-shirts, lank hair topped off with a Saint Paul Saints baseball cap— not a picture to post on eharmony. So, about a week ago, I decided it was time for an intervention. It went like this:

“I know it’s not your birthday but wondered if you might like a couple of pretty Equine Couture argyle sweaters from Dover Saddlery,” I queried cautiously.

She looked down at her unsightly ensemble and then at me as if I had asked her to sell the cat.

“I mean, we’re all going through something, so you might as well go through something looking good,” I quickly added.

Silence.

Well, it was one of those dangerous opportunities that I took, and I’m pleased to report that this morning Madam was sporting a snappy new hair cut and stylish Ariat breeches that match the color of my eyes. Woohoo!