Ride Report: The M.E.D.U.S.A.

Yesterday FarmWife and I enjoyed the first ride in some time! After nearly a month off on account of some no-good, stupid, inconsequential swelling (which never hurt a bit and which all along caused FarmWife far more worry than it ever caused me), I was positively chipper! I jigged and jogged, offered a canter when asked to trot, and even did a bit of Joyful Sproinging. FarmWife, who is not a brave rider, actually laughed out loud at my Joyful Sproinging. Had I been doing Sour Sproinging, which is a close cousin, she would not have laughed at all but would rather have gotten off and lunged me or some such nonsense. As it was, we had a lovely ride in the arena (er, pasture) and thoroughly enjoyed a good thirty-minute workout with no ill effect.

The ride went south when FarmWife, who has asked me to drag a rope hither and thither and across and around on many an occasion as part of my driving training, brought out a Mule Eating Device of Unparallelled Sadistic Apocolypticism (M.E.D.U.S.A.).

It looked like this. 

Now, knowing as she does that I am a sensible mule, FarmWife expected to commence with dragging exercises immediately. Not knowing, as she didn't, that the MEDUSA was deadly and savage, she had to content herself with something less exciting. The most compliance I could muster was to stand in the middle of the field in my best a googly-eyed Arabian Stallion pose while FarmWife, with the MEDUSA in tow, transcribed neat 20 meter circles around me.

We ended the ride on a good note, I thought . . . trotting a little, with me trying not to gape my mouth open and evade my rubber snaffle and FarmWife trying not to succumb to her common equitation faults. No comment, please . . . she knows that her lower leg has slipped back, and that she needs to keep her eyes up, shoulders back, elbow bent, straight line from elbow to bit, and what-have-you. She knows that I know, but if she knew that I knew that YOU knew, she might be self-conscious and then she wouldn't let me post her pictures anymore, or she would insist on taking dressage lessons with me which might end up being all sorts of work.

Then . . . some thanks! . . . FarmWife committed an almost unforgiveable crime. FarmWife served my dinner, my own delicious single scant flake, in . . . wait for it . . . . the MEDUSA.

Strangely enough, it wasn't so scary when it served as a receptacle for edible delights. In fact, I dove right in, and now I think that the MEDUSA and I are fast friends . . . UNTIL it starts moving!

Love,
Fenway