The owners for Melting Pot and Calisse came over Sunday afternoon to move our lawn mowers onto greener pastures. After two weeks of nibbling away at our field, we've got some nicely trimmed sections, some nicely pooped on sections, and some really horrible stinging bushes that the horses wouldn't go near with the a ten foot pole.
When their 'parents' got here to to move them, they handed me a helmet and asked if I wanted a go. Me being me said, HECK YEAH, before really thinking that whole thing through.
I used to ride horses when I was about 12 years old. My mom would schlep me up to the equestrian centre not too far from our house and I'd hold on tight to the horn of a western saddle and pray that whatever horse I was riding that day wouldn't really wake up and start running with any sort of speed. I was happy to go around in circles, calmly, all the while in my head thinking I was like those rough and tough western woman on the frontier.
Childhood dreams. Adulthood reality.
I was able to haul myself up on to Melting Pot without a problem and tried to listen to my friend's advice about how to hold the reigns, how to not fall off that non-Western saddle, how to make the thing stop, as best as I could. Of course my friend didn't tell me that not only did Melting Pot not like eating stinging bushes, Melting Pot didn't like walking through them either.
Galloping through them was just fine on the other hand.
Somehow by the grace of God and the size of my four-children-later butt, I was able to stay on. Quite exhilarating I must say. I kept thinking that if I did fall off and kill myself, at least Hubster could use the insurance money to buy a proper lawn mover and the kids some bon-bons at the boulangerie.
When Melting Pot finally did stop, my friends smiled at me and I started giggling like the village idiot I really am. Such wonderful, wonderful fun.
I followed our friend on Calisse and rode Melting Pot down the path behind the field and over to the next field where they will put their lawn mower skills to good use. Funny thing is, I miss them here. I miss getting to see them from the window, giving them some carrots or apples when I would go to feed the dogs. I miss singing to them when Typhon would howl, I miss watching them romp, stretching those long legs and beautiful strong heads.
I can't wait till they come back.
You know, screw that puppy idea. I know what I want for my 40th...