I have been informed by the barn cats that Humans everywhere recently celebrated something called “Valley Tines Day”, in which they make goony eyes at each other, and refuse to share their candy with me.
After assessing my haul from Santa Hoss, one of my favorite holiday traditions is making my list of resolutions for the new year.
(For my Human, obviously. I am already perfect.)
This is more of an editing process than a writing process, since her list of defects, forgotten goals, lazy avoidances and sadly untapped potential is longer than your average sheet of legal paper, and besides, I would rather opt for more festive wall decorations for my stall. Like poo.
Accountability is a big issue with me, and as we approach the holiday season, I wish I could convince my Human to take on more of it. As it is though, I’ve come to realize that her endless griping and poor attitude are not going to change between now and Christmas. I thought I should take this year’s letter to Santa as my opportunity to set the record straight on my treat eligibility before he loads up his sleigh.
Dear Santa Hoss,
First of all, whatever my Human has told you is a complete lie.
I’ve found that as the weather gets colder and rainier, Humans tend to go a little stir-crazy as you spend more time in the indoor arena drilling her on her dreadful dressage. Although training your Human is serious business, it’s also important to make sure she has fun on occasion. I’ve found that a rousing game of tag is a great way to get the color back in her cheeks.
Across the country, horse show season is in full swing, and you know what that means—potentially long rides in hot trailers with inadequate snack options (I asked for alfalfa, not grass hay, stewardess!) next to that one gelding in the barn who spits when he snorts.
I recently had the opportunity to chat with a newcomer to our farm—a tall, dark and dashing gentleman who, in a former life, was a race horse.
He’s handsome, he’s quick, and I may be in love. I gave him some tips on human management, and he helped me get in touch with the Thoroughbred side of my pedigree. He also told me about his traveling adventures to exotic places like Florida and New York, and he mentioned the great variety of hay, grains and grass he’d gotten to eat in his career.
As any of us with our own green space knows, pasture management can be difficult. Throw a lead-rope wielding Human into the mix, and your long day of culling your field’s clover crop just became a juggling act.
Sometimes even the most well-meaning Human can be utterly hopeless when it comes to aesthetics. For example: She often shows up at the barn in the same tired ensemble. (Would she wear those jeans in public? I think not.)
From what I could see through her car window while I was playing tag, style is not a priority in my Human’s life. I haven’t seen my Human’s “apartment,” but I’m guessing her interior decorating skills are naught.
How can we possibly expect them to accessorize our lives, when they can’t even put themselves together?
We’ve all been there before—the car rolls in the barnyard, and the weary nine-to-fiver tumbles out, stumbling to the barn for chores, looking like she’d rather be headed inside for a nap. Life gets busy, and we all have days, or even weeks where putting in the time gets difficult. The last thing you want to deal with after a busy afternoon of grazing is an energy-zapped, loquacious Human.
Fortunately, I have made a study of finding creative ways to exercise your Human in between the grazing dates, the dust baths and meditations on the meaning of life.