ow that we’re off to a good Monday start, there are a few things on my mind that need to get off before they weigh down my incredible lightness of being. That my horses are better off than I am is only one of them, but I'll start there.
At the moment, I'm into Month Three of healing nicely from my most recent rotator cuff incident, and my lust begins there. My tack room is filled with all sorts of goodies to help my aging horses get through their days with minimal pain and stress. They have boots and wraps and supplements and meds, and all of it works just fine. Even my most arthritic animal is a tap-dancing fool with his daily dose of Cosequin ASU in his system. I've read all the specs, and I've done my best to mimic that concoction in my own medicine cabinet, but you know what? It doesn't work for me. I've tried the human versions of the same supplements by the same makers and had no relief at all, while my horses glide merrily through the pasture without the hitch in their giddyap that threatens my daily activity level.
So I'm feeling morose. Down. Irritated that my animals have it better than I do, and not through any fault of my own. A Bute or two on those really bad injury days, and the equines trot off smiling. I'm rocking Ultracet and Mobic and have to check my joints at the door if I expect to have a pain-free day.
|Ignore the bit rings and feel the love, and...|
Hey! Didn't I just order that same bit again? Crap.
How is this fair?
And why is it that they get to hang out, have tasty meals laced with supplemental goodness (carrot chunks, not the least of it) brought to them and their rooms cleaned and freshened by their slave while I have to spend my day fixing the fences they broke during their over-the-fence jousting? That's not fair either.
But there is an up side.
So today I will accept that while my mobility and play time may be in question, I could, in fact, operate an iPad if I had one. They can't...yet. I will luxuriate in my ability to poke a button and watch Buck again while they stand out in the sun and wind and grass without benefit of TV (but living HD lives, which is a separate whine). And if the forty-mile-per-hour wind gusts ever let up, I'll corner one of them, drag him from his face time with his buds, and make him carry my butt around the property while I look for more broken fences to fix.
And there, my friends, is the trade-off. There's that peaceful HD time in the fresh air that I get in return for all the hard work and worry and expense and more hard work and time and travel constraints. I get that amazing moment when Zip or Leo or Dakota says "Hey! Nice to see you!" and we head off into the woods or just into the ring to pop a few mini-jumps and pretend we're doing lateral work like the big kids.
And I guess I'm pretty much okay with that, achy shoulder and all.