Its been nearly a month since Whitman and I parted company and I toured the local ER’s. I have heard from friends and medical professionals ‘how lucky I am’ and the one specialist said “wow-you really dodged a bullet’ four separate times during the same fifteen minute appointment. I won’t need any surgery and by the new year I should be all healed up with no limitations or long-term damage. Which of course is fantastic. No banjos needed yet.
I believe I previously mentioned that the decision had been pretty quickly made to get Whitman in training with someone as soon as possible. I was all set to head out tomorrow with Whitman to Maverick Hill Dressage in Vermont. I had taken the day off from work (I hate to do that), my husband had the trailer all checked, tires checked and inflated (see previous posts for bad luck with tires) and he sent the truck into be serviced so that it was all ready to go on an eight-hour trip tomorrow. Now strike up the banjo’s and get your beer to cry into – I already poured my glass of wine.
My husband took the truck tonight to run our son to Cub Scouts (bless his heart). He got to the first stop sign and the brake pedal sunk to the floor. He called me to let me know and that he would fix it as soon as he could tomorrow, but that I would not be hitting the road as planned at 6 am. Ugh, fine. Then I shoot a message to the trainer that I will not be able to get there by 3pm and to express my sincere apologies. I was feeling pretty guilty because Jordan (the trainer) was also planning on putting my mother and I up for the night at his place and now I was screwing up his schedule. Music should now be getting sad and twangy.
I had Whitman in the cross ties for a final mane pull and touch up. I looked at his left front a couple of times because how he was holding it seemed slightly off. Hmm – looked, felt the lower leg, shrugged it off and went back to fussing with him. He was looking pretty elegant and spiffy and was thoroughly enjoying all the attention. I was having a very good time futzing around with him and was feeling more benevolent towards him that I had been over the last month. After admiring my horse that despite his ugly geeky pink stable blanket was looking pretty darn fancy and elegant, I went to put him back in his stall and he was moving in a weird way. Weird is not good! I took him to the arena and had him trot and weird went to bad. I got him back to the barn and started feeling around. My first hope was that the farrier had driven a nail wrong and this could be fixed before the truck was ready to go and I would still be on my way tomorrow. Further inspection revealed a very sore tender spot on the upper inside of his left front. Not going anywhere tomorrow. Moving to full on Tammy Wynette music at this point.
So I called the trainer – since a text seemed cowardly – and ended up leaving a message that I would not be coming at all tomorrow due to the fact that my life is becoming a comedy of errors and traveling to Vermont tomorrow will not be happening. It is one of those cases where you cannot apologize enough since you are really screwing someone else over but there is nothing you can do about it. Sadly at this point, the trainer is probably viewing me in the light of some Taylor Swift song about women being completely crazy.
I then text work to let them know I am going to cancel my day off, text a friend to get a ride to work since we dropped my SUV off to be serviced when we picked the now non drive-able truck up, text a mutual friend of the trainers and mine to whine about the comedy of errors that is now my life, text my mother to let her know we are not leaving at 6 am and then head to the house for a glass of wine. I am not even certain what sort of music you insert here, but personally I have gone on to humming Arlo Guthrie’s Alice’s Restaurant. Now I just need to perform some Weird Al version set to Beer Budget Dressage.
Good night y’all – I am heading off to find something to beat my head against. Maybe in a month I will look into tennis lessons.