Since Xe got new shoes and a newly adjusted spine, I had to take her for a spin at the indoor arena at the fairgrounds. She worked nicely, but stood waiting her turn, well, like an idiot.

This was the first time I’d hauled her and Jilly anywhere together. They travelled well together, but the standing tied was a bit of a challenge. Xe didn’t like that she had to stand and be good while Jilly got to “have fun” bein ridden. So she used the new shoes to bang on the pipe fencing. Yeah, that’s what I spent the $70 for: percussion instruments.

The two college girls who were there when we arrived were packing up their crew of horses and their stuff as I started riding Jilly and the scenario played out as:

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Xena!”

Bang.

“No!”

Ride. Ride.

Bang. Bang. Bang!

“Xe! Quit!”

Ride. Ri—.

Bang! Bang!

“Hey! Xena, Warrior Dipshit, [snort — from a college chick] I would happily work you first and last.”

Ri—.

Bang!

Jilly and I exit arena. I swap horses to be tortured with work. College chicks exit barn, a mercy for me that they don’t hear me muttering curses at Xena who has put on her me-sweet-girl-you-love-me face and is perfectly happy and content now that she’s the center of attention and action.

Lungeing Xena in arena.

Bang. Bang. From Jilly.

“Seriously, you two?! What? Are you small children that I can’t take anywhere? No. You’re horses and there’s a canner market in Canada, just an hour away … .”

They eat the other red meat north of the border, eh: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40.com

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