The best laid plans....
Operation Recycled Racehorse has commenced
The best laid plans…
Over the previous few weeks I’ve been gently laying the foundations that I wanted to buy a racehorse.
Anthony was less thrilled with the idea… But like all good marketers I knew to focus on the features and benefits, while artfully glossing over any foreseeable problems.
“It will be fine. We’ve got heaps of feed and zero kids so we’ll hardly even notice an extra horse.”
“Vet bills? Unlikely…Our place is practically accident proof these days.”
To be fair, we both knew I was talking garbage… but I didn’t expect my cover to be blown quite so soon.
Most mornings Anth and I have a cheery message exchange and I share cute updates about the animals.
So when he asked how the new horse was doing, I knew I had to craft the perfect response.
….I figured a photo was the best way to share my news.
Did you happen to notice that Anthony’s reply does not indicate any alarm, concern or surprise?
Well, nonchalant surrender is the default setting for most weary horse husbands and he’s got a few years practice under his belt.
Anyway, enough about humans and onto the horse.
Big Gangles as he is currently known is a bay thoroughbred gelding who last raced 6 weeks ago.
He came dead last.
And while I’m sure it was a kick in the guts for his connections – this result was music to my ears.
Not since I was nine years old have I thought ‘Gee, I wish this horse would go faster’.
In fact, slowness was part of my selection criteria.
I picked him up from the other side of Melbourne, in what was probably the windiest and worst day for towing in the entire year. At one stage my indicator stopped working and my humongous horse float was getting blown around like the feather from Forrest Gump.
It was 100% un-fun.
During the drive, while I was white knuckling the steering wheel, I issued a quick prayer…
“I don’t care if this thing has 3 legs and a face like Frankenstein… I just hope he travels well”
Now I’m usually pretty competent at lifey sort of stuff….but the idea of a 3 hour drive home, through cyclonic winds with a kicking racehorse onboard nearly had me at capacity.
Well it turns out there is a God, because my wish was granted.
He traveled like a trooper and happily ate his hay the whole way home… Plus his added weight kept the float from being so featherish.
Happily, when we arrived home he popped out without a care in the world.
On the other hand, his new furry flatmates were enraged at the appearance of a skinny brown thing on their turf.
So this morning, as I write this, I’m waiting for the big fella to finish his breakfast – with a dose of painkiller disguised in the chaff.
See I’d planned to let him chill for a week, to get used to his surroundings without me fussing too much.
Maybe a few gentle walks, a bit of groundwork & grooming but nothing that would push the friendship.
Hows about those ‘best laid plans’ hey?
It looks like our first cute bonding experience will not be some zen meditation while I sing ‘Koombayah’…
Nope it’s going to be me pulling on my brave pants and dressing those wounds with stinging cream & hissing spray… all while doing the Dodge-The-Back-Legs dance.
Because OF COURSE it’s his back legs that are injured and I’m home by myself….yes folks, what could possibly go wrong?
So if the next story starts with a photo of me with no front teeth in my face… then you’ll know how it all went down.