Guest Author - Susan Hopf
Arrive at the barn – pre-dawn to avoid the sun, sweat and swarms of bugs.
Hopeful and ready to ride – despite this being the fourth attempt (of three failed attempts) this week to beat the heat, the morning holds promise.
Hay is at the ready and all seems quiet. The barn door slowly slides back to reveal that two more horses have successfully pushed their stall doors off the track while itching their decidedly itchy rumps. Crowbar and shoulder in place the doors slide back into the track – make note “step up chiropractic appointment for self”.
Hay is distributed, grain delivered without incident and the next hour is spent cleaning fly masks of hay and debris that might poke into the horses’ big orbs. Most horses tolerate placement of these great inventions very well – except, of course, for the biggest creatures in the barn. Head up, ears flattened and held so tightly down that even the crowbar cannot be wedged under. Tiptoes is a common position for this exercise so calf muscles are stretched and the mask in on – whew! Seems to be getting hot out already.
The next step is a mixture of foul smelling fumes from various fly spray applications. These concoctions promise 24-hour durations and fast knockdowns of flies of all sorts, mosquitoes, ticks and the occasional UFO. With great hope each horse is meticulously sprayed and by the time they are done eating and ready to go out you have inhaled enough toxic fumes to choke – well – a horse.
The lucky beast of the day, the ride of choice, is turned out into the outdoor arena to have a stretch and roll. The remainder of the horses are marched one by one into the appropriate pastures. Before the gate is reached the sentry insects have sent up flares and the buzzing begins – a low whine that reaches a crescendo with each horse’s release. The fly spray (about as much use as a guitar without strings – although you could at least use that to smash the nasty little buggers) is immediately wiped off as each horse plunges to the ground to roll in the dust and grass. Many of the masks find their way into heaps on the ground as well. Two thoughts pop up – a good old college try was given – and doing the same thing the same way and expecting different results is Einstein’s definition of insanity – note to self “step up therapy appointment”.
As the horses navigate out to the grassy parts of the pasture they are accompanied by a late arrival – a fly or more appropriately a pterodactyl that shows up to wreak havoc mid-summer every year. Huge is an understatement – and mean. Landing and digging into the meatiest part of the horses’ rumps they cannot dislodge this blood sucking creature except by throwing themselves to the ground and trying to roll on top of it. Bucking does no good, running does no good, stomping does no good – nothing works but perhaps a swat from a human friend or a tail from a pasture mate – a lucky shot at best. Eventually resigned to this unwanted passenger the horses move on to their main job – the decimation of baby grass – stopping often for another futile attempt to remove the beast.
The horse in the outdoor arena has run himself into a mega sweat while trying to dislodge the freeloading giant-sized fly and must be attended to before heat exhaustion sets in. Clothes have been sweated through, dirt and fly spray has managed to close one eye completely and the other half way. Through the haze of bugs and humidity the hose is pulled out, the horse is rinsed and again de-bugged (if only for a moment) and the ride – cancelled until winter!
