My help is dropping like flies in October. Or as flies would drop if it weren’t 85 degrees. Do you believe in global warming yet? Everybody is sick. Oh well. They will get better eventually.
Only a week and a half to go until the races. I opened the gate to the second field to tempt the horses into their race day habitat. They’ve been locked out for three weeks now, and I have discovered reverse psychology works as well on horses as it does on small children. Tell ‘em they can’t go there, and it’s the only place they want to be. I’ve tried, leading, herding, crying, stomping my feet, but this is the easiest way to get them to change fields. As soon as they see the gate is open, a stampede will occur, and all I’ve got to do is shut the gate behind them. Hoo rah.
I tried to clip Tom yesterday, but he is apparently impervious to Dormosedan. I dodged the cow kicks, got most of it done, but he drew the line at ears, and sheath cleaning? Fuggedaboutit. Ooookaaaay. So, I guess I don’t have to tell you it kinda looks like I weed wacked my horse. I’m beginning to think it is worth the money to pay someone else to do this job.
Tonight we are going to the range so I can practice skeet shooting. I am going to a skeet shooting fundraiser for the hunt club. I should tell you that while I do shoot at skeet, I rarely actualy hit one (and for those of you not in the know, skeet are little, round clay targets that are sent winging through the air, not an actual feathered animal. Although I have a friend in Manhattan who was absolutely HORRIFIED that I would kill skeet, so I sent her a recipe for skeet in cream sauce, along with one of the targets). I will update you on my total humiliation next week.