With all the hustle and bustle of a short (short) vacation, vet appointments, patient horse people, the dragging of Sherri to and fro to see/try/buy horses, it seems I've forgotten a couple very significant things.
First, yes. Yes. The rumors are true. Kerri has, after sorting through the riff-raff, ripping out her hair, whining, running, and being talked endlessly off the the "but I love him!" ledge by Sherri,
FOUND A FUCKING HORSE.
That's right. I said it. I had one of those gross moments when I sat on the horse. You know, that shit you read about in Chicken Soup for the Horse Lover's Soul books? My innards went "Ahhhhh". When the mare tossed her head in disagreement and scooted, my wee little heart banged away in my chest. I am in love.
Except there is that thing. That inevitable, horrible, mean thing that I have to do.
I have to tell Monkey.
Sherri and I cautiously carried on our horse-shopping conversations out of ear shot from the pony for fear he'd hurt himself or bite me or some shit. Think I'm just a crazy horse person? Let me put it into perspective.
You know how you go over someone's house and play with their dog/cat/kid and return to your dwelling and get interrogated by your cat/dog/kid? The angry (yet thorough) sniff-o-rama? (for the cat/dog part...) Then you are ignored for a few minutes until there is food involved?
Or what about if you have 2 or more dogs and you're loving on one, scratching an ear or rubbing a belly and the other dog gets all up in your business like "Love me. LOVE me. LOVE ME!!!" and kinda pushes the original Lovee out of the way?
It's sorta like that, except on the thousand pound level. When I had Sophia, Monkey had no clue, he was busy being locked in his stall sick. But this is differant. We've missed many trail rides due to my having to drive to GodKnowsWhere to see a horse. He'll stand in the middle of his paddock, chewing, chewing, little black ears up and watching my every move. This is going to get ugly.
He'll figure it out on his own come Saturday, when the Bay Bombshell steps off (his) trailer and whinnies her arrival. Despite his self-inflicted I'm A Warmblood idealism, Monkey will feel his questionable breeding hit home when he sees this girl. He will probably shrink back into the far corner of his paddock under the tree and scowl. I can expect his ears to flatten when he hears me cooing at New Horse. He'll twitch his tail at me and throw some bucks under saddle. He'll make me chase him around the paddock to put on his blanket. This is going to get ugly.
And the reason for the Ugly is this-
Kerri is not bringing home a Thoroughbred or a solid Paint. No Morgan, Cleveland Bay, Draft Cross.
Kerri went and gone done got an Oldenburg. There was no fucking around. The reason Kerri got an Oldenburg was that she is "too small" and more "dressage-y" for the current owners.
She's 15.2. Perfect for a stubby short-legged 5'3 woman. She's delicately necked, muscled, blazing red bay with enviable mane and tail thickness. The perfect ratio of 1/3 1/3 1/3. Soft eyed, slightly Roman-nosed in the Oldenburg fashion. Corformationally correct and sweet as apple pie on a late summer Sunday. Excellent boned. I'm in love.
(but, Monkey, I still love you best)
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