What's that sound? That's the sound of FarmWife's belt clearing her belt loops. (Duck!)
I want to take a moment to talk about domestic violence. I want to tell you how my woman beats me, and how she tells me it's "my fault" and that "I asked for it."
Actually, when FarmWife beats me she uses a whip. Ouch!
Here's are the things that led up to this travesty:
I spooked at the corner of Meredith Lane and Wickersham Street every ride for two years. FarmWife expected me to spook there, and I spooked there, and we rode on and had a lovely time and so on and so forth until the next outing, when it all happened again. This was simply how it was, until I started stretching my spooking out a bit. It was so terribly interesting to spook at the corner—wouldn't it be fun to spook at the logging gate? At the boulder? At the fall foliage?
You may remember a story last month, about the place where FarmWife took me to die, wherein I was so terrified of everything that I had to be lunged rather than ridden. I was lunged until I was out of breath, which was really a terrible cruelty. Well, FarmWife decided thereafter that not only would I be lunged every time I acted like an idiot (her words) but that I would be ridden with a dressage whip—and thwacked soundly for every unfounded spook! Can you believe it?
This is how our first ride under the new regime went . . . saunter, saunter, saunter, saunter, googly-eyed balk, THWACK, saunter, saunter, saunter. Offended sigh. Saunter, saunter.
This is how our next ride under the new regime went . . . tra, la, la, doo-da-doo, ho, hum, saunter. No balk, no snort, no spook, no thwack.
The good news is that I no longer get beaten on the corner of Meredith Lane and Wickersham Street. It happened just the once, and that's behind me now. The bad news, in FarmWife's opinion, is that it took her two full years to cowboy up and actually RIDE me around that corner with some semblance of authority. The bad news, in my opinion, is that my dramatized terror at that quiet intersection was one of the best parts of every ride. I'll miss that sort of fun.
Ears,
FenBar
I want to take a moment to talk about domestic violence. I want to tell you how my woman beats me, and how she tells me it's "my fault" and that "I asked for it."
Actually, when FarmWife beats me she uses a whip. Ouch!
Here's are the things that led up to this travesty:
I spooked at the corner of Meredith Lane and Wickersham Street every ride for two years. FarmWife expected me to spook there, and I spooked there, and we rode on and had a lovely time and so on and so forth until the next outing, when it all happened again. This was simply how it was, until I started stretching my spooking out a bit. It was so terribly interesting to spook at the corner—wouldn't it be fun to spook at the logging gate? At the boulder? At the fall foliage?
You may remember a story last month, about the place where FarmWife took me to die, wherein I was so terrified of everything that I had to be lunged rather than ridden. I was lunged until I was out of breath, which was really a terrible cruelty. Well, FarmWife decided thereafter that not only would I be lunged every time I acted like an idiot (her words) but that I would be ridden with a dressage whip—and thwacked soundly for every unfounded spook! Can you believe it?
This is how our first ride under the new regime went . . . saunter, saunter, saunter, saunter, googly-eyed balk, THWACK, saunter, saunter, saunter. Offended sigh. Saunter, saunter.
This is how our next ride under the new regime went . . . tra, la, la, doo-da-doo, ho, hum, saunter. No balk, no snort, no spook, no thwack.
The good news is that I no longer get beaten on the corner of Meredith Lane and Wickersham Street. It happened just the once, and that's behind me now. The bad news, in FarmWife's opinion, is that it took her two full years to cowboy up and actually RIDE me around that corner with some semblance of authority. The bad news, in my opinion, is that my dramatized terror at that quiet intersection was one of the best parts of every ride. I'll miss that sort of fun.
Ears,
FenBar
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