Dear Santa Hoss,
It’s that time of year again, when my lawyers advise me I should write a rebuttal to all the lies my Human claims she reports to you every year. Really, by now Santa, I don’t know why you even take her calls.
Here’s the real story of this year, for your consideration.
- I don’t think I should be in any way blamed for The Incident During Which the Human May Have Fallen on Her Head While Schooling Cross-Country. For one thing, it honestly didn’t occur to me that she would actually fall off (scream a little sure, but that’s about it). For another, I can’t help that she always falls end-first like a plump football.
I think this can be written off as a minor error in judgment. After all, the MRI came back clean. The grass stains came out of her so-called ‘good breeches’. And no one referred her to any domestic abuse programs while she was sporting that shiner, so everything’s good, right?
Also please note: I took off galloping to look for emergency medical personnel; the fact that I encountered a cute gelding and some delectable pasture on the way was beyond my control.
- There seems to be a lot of misunderstanding about my barn’s March Madness bracket. I don’t accumulate points for putting holes in things just to be cruel. It’s a teaching exercise. About, um, what was it again? Oh right. Spring cleaning and proper stall outfitting. You’re all about Humans learning to better themselves, I assume?
If it makes you feel any better, she has completely failed to pick up spring cleaning tips from me. I heard her bragging the other day about replacing my now-dead fly sheet with a discount, no-name knockoff. I can hear her incessant screeching now—“You’re not getting a Rambo anything, ever again because you can’t treat them nicely!”
Please. Is it my fault she doesn’t know how to read a size chart? I couldn’t be seen in that thing. It made my hindquarters look big.
- It would also be unfair to blame me for the fact that the Human has still not learned to properly sit my canter. All the hopping and twisting I’ve been doing when she makes the feeble attempt has been my way of trying to strengthen her balance. The fact that I’m 1,300 pounds and she’s, like, half that, which sends her bobbling around like one of those giant balloons at a used car lot really isn’t my problem.
As if all of this hasn’t been enough work for me, she’s also set me to work on her trainer’s cantering skills, which has been considerably more challenging. While far more advanced, this Human is more set in her ways.
Can you believe it took me three whole weeks to throw her? Exhausting.
- The Human will doubtlessly also accuse me of referring to her in writing as “Lardcake” while brainstorming a possible show name for her this season. She has threatened me with something called “libel,” which worried me until I discovered two things—“libel” doesn’t involve longe whips, and it can’t be libel if it’s true.
I don’t really have a defense for this one Santa, but I don’t think I need to defend my sense of humor to the jolliest fellow at the North Pole. Besides, since you’re omniscient, you’ve probably seen her butt. You know I’m right.
Essentially, Santa, I think my record has been pretty good this year. Besides, I’ve tolerated so many wobbly calves, uneven hands, and less-than-graceful sitting trots from my Human with saint-like patience that I’m starting to think I could have gotten a few more bucks in without losing my halo.
See you in a few weeks, my friend. Don’t forget to leave me some of those spare Christmas cookies.
Love and horsey nose kisses from your favorite equid,
By the way, my Human and I are up for some Equestrian Social Media Awards… Specifically in Categories #1 and #10. When public voting opens in January, show us some love!
|Jitterbug is a Michigan-bred Professional Draft Cross who skillfully avoided saddles until age 5. Since then, she has been lauded for her talent in successfully managing humans while training herself to one day achieve eventing greatness. Jitter and her human live in central Kentucky.
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Photo by Dark Horse Photography.