Today was a day for trading horses. No, we don’t walk around in our chaps with a ‘hitch in our
git along’ and a chaw of to-back-ee in our jaw and go swaggerin’ up to some other horse person around here and see what they got accordin’ to what we got and make us a trade.
We trade where the horses are on our own property.
Today we put the stud horse into the barn and the fillies into the pasture.
Putting fillies in the pasture is lots of fun because they always spend their first 10 or so minutes running all over the place with their tails and heads up and kicking up their heels and giving each other a hard time.
It’s been even more fun ever since our donkey Romeo was gelded. For you non-horse people, gelded means we had his family jewels ceremoniously removed…well…um…we actually just had the vet come over, give him a shot that knocked his little ass out in the paddock, and then spread his legs, pulled out a device that looked like a nut cracker (pun sadly intended) created by the minions of Satan, made an incision on his nut sac and then ‘cracked’ those suckers right off.
Seriously, even though I don’t personally posses a set of family jewels (though Ben might say I do by proxy…naughty boy!), hearing the sound of poor little Romeo’s nuts being ‘cracked’ was just about over the top when it comes to me being able to hear something.
One way or the other, he’s been able to be out in the pasture with everyone ever since and that’s been lots of fun for everyone.
Especially because, right at the point when the fillies are winding down and struting their stuff a little more slowly so they can head on down that nice road of grazing with one another and looking like something right out of a picture, Romeo can finally catch up with them.
Which makes me feel good for him because when he can’t keep up with them he will stop running, stomp his little hoves on the ground and thrash his head around out of frustration.
At the point of the fillies slowing down today our red dun went by I said to Ben,
She’s kind of like a man horse, don’t cha think?
He said,
Huh?
I said,
She’s kind of like a man horse. A stud. She makes all those stud horse noises when she’s riled up and is very powerful physically. Not very femenine. We could probably strap one on that big girl and she would chase the stud horse all over the pasture with it.
He said,
Did you say strap one on?
I felt a little embarrassed and said,
Yeah.
He made his eyes all big at me and didn’t say anything else.
I said,
I’ll bet she would chase the stud horse all over the pasture and say things to him like,
Except that she wouldn’t have much of a leg to stand on with that attitude due to regularly going up to the gate where our stud horse stands when he’s in the barn and turning around and lifting her tail and making noises that I suspect mean things along the lines of,
Hubba, hubba!
or
Why don’t cha come out here and see me sometime!
or
Coffee, tea or me!?
And then we just went on with what we were doing. Namely, getting out of the heat because, for some reason, we had decided not to keep our farm hours today (mornings and evenings outside, afternoons inside) and afternoons outside this time of year causes heat stroke or at least severe disorientation and grumpiness even if you’re just standing around talking about letting one of your fillies ’strap one on’.
Today I’ve actually stepped back into the thought process of political campaigns. Something I’ve avoided since my days in Wisconsin as a volunteer for the Kerry/Edwards campaign of 2004. Other than, of course, making terrible statements that I get into trouble for on a regular basis such as a few weeks ago when Ben and his brother and girlfriend and I were eating out and ended up sitting near a young military man and his wife and children and
Ben’s brother said,
We should anonymously pay for their dinner. He’s being of service to our nation.
And he had the look on his face that he gets when he’s basically going to do something anyway but is just being nice and seeing if anyone else wants to come along for the ride.
And I said,
I don’t know why we couldn’t do that except that I don’t think he’s being of service to our country.
Ben’s brother got all big eyed at me just like Ben does because that thing runs in their family.
I said,
He’s being of service to an administration that lied, cheated and played upon the fears of trusting citizens to make their way into an out and out war. A war, for chrissake! But I get it that he’s not responsible for the decisions of a crap ass criminal of a President.
Yesterday something was mentioned about Colin Powell on the news and I told Ben the truth that I hold Colin Powell personally responsible for completing the process of my loss of trust in anything to do with the American political system.
It wasn’t a hard thing to do really. Years ago I lost all but about one ounce of trust in the entire system. And that one ounce was something I was holding onto due to the fact that I’m not really the kind of person who likes to completely loose trust in anyone or anything. So I usually make the decision to hang onto a little something.
But Powell I somehow liked.
‘Liked’ should, of course, be qualified truthfully in the way of ‘liked’ according to how much I ‘like’ politicians. ‘Liked’ when it comes to politicians means I’m usually thinking something along the lines of,
He seems like the kind of guy that might have a remote chance of having a hard time sleeping at night if he lied about something that could kill another person.
Of course, when it comes to having a hard time sleeping at night, there is always that old saying,
Don’t go around thinking about someone else’s actions and wondering how they sleep at night or you just might end up finding out how they sleep at night.
The person I’ve judged most harshly in my lifetime so far is a member of my own family. Someone who has had a long life of doing things I like to call
-
Wing dingers
-
Flim flams
-
Bait and switch
-
Flat out fraud
It’s been pretty serious, my judgment.
But it’s also been a lesson in avoiding doing what I call ‘Living in the Anti’.
Indeed, this particular family member has lived a life with one goal, one mantra, one purpose:
Don’t be like dad.
And has ended up being just like dad.
Indeed, it seems trying trying not to be like another person is just as damaging as trying to be just like another person.
And now I’m sitting here thinking about the word quintessential.
Quintessential:
- The fifth and highest element in ancient and medieval philosophy that permeates all nature and is the substance composing the celestial bodies
- The essence of a thing in its purest and most concentrated form
Now that’s a great word.
Because when I think about it a can get down with the idea that maybe somebody ‘Living in the Anti’ is just their way of being in their own purest and most concentrated form. And maybe that’s what Colin Powell was doing too. And that’s probably what was going on when I was cracking myself up by saying ’strap one on’ when it comes to our filly that I think is kind of a man horse.
And also because I’m not one to argue with something that permeates all nature and is the substance composing the celestial bodies.
And sometimes when I’m thinking about things just like this I start feeling serious and heavy headed
and then something happens that snaps me right out of it.
For instance:
I just took a break from typing to go to the window and lift the shade so I can watch the sun set and, in the process of doing so, somehow forgot we have an ottoman and ran right into it and ended up doing some kind of pinwheel thing around part of the room and, when I stopped, was laughing at myself.
Also, a few years ago Ben’s brother gave me a little Barbie thing that, if you press the right buttons, causes Barbie’s voice to come out of with little cheers such as,
2 4 6 8 Who do we appreciate!
I think I would like it if one of the cheers was,
Pork chop! Pork Chop! Greeeeeeasy greasy! We’re gonna beat you eeeeasy easy!
I recently found it and have been keeping it on my desk so I can call up Ben’s brother’s phone, press a little Barbie button, and have her give a little cheer to his voice mail.
I did that right after I pinwheeled around the room and that caused me laugh too.
Now those things are quintessentially me!
I’ve witnessed the nutcracking, and it wasn’t pretty. It’s right up there with the artificial insemination of cows or using a winch to pull out a baby cow or horse.
Thinking about the Bush administration disgusts me more than all the gross things I saw growing up on a farm. I used to like Colin, too, but he sold out to those evil fucks. He at least seems to have regrets, unlike the rest.