Horses lend us the wings we lack

Horses lend us the wings we lack – Pam Brown 1928 (I can’t find anything about her, who she is, nothing, but I know she said it because t’net says so.)

Jo came round yesterday with one of the last of the bales.  We are onto last year’s batch now.  Even though they are not perfect some bits are useable.  The curate’s egg of a silage bale.

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We, ok, Jo, went through it with a pitchfork and got rid of the fusty bits and dumped them onto the compost.  The inside is perfectly fine.  Fust is dangerous

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Everyone was let into the school.  Some dallied.

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There is always a hopeful tail-end Charlie or Taktur, as he is known to his friends.  He was loitering about because he wanted his speshul working stallion grub.

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I explained to him that I couldn’t feed him while everyone was around as there would be a huge fight.  This, he understood so he went and stood tidily by his tied-up friends (Klængur, Iacs and Haakon) because that is the type of perfect boy he is.  He understands everything.

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Jo and Fiona did some brushing, tacking up and generally getting the three boys ready to ride with the help and assistance of everyone else.

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Birds of a feather, and all that…. so many “strawberry blondes”  *** cough, ginger, cough ***  in one room.

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An Eviction Notice was served on the fat, the small and the useless and they pootled off back to their field.

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There was a small diversion en route.  Father and son of single mind and thought.  Ahem!

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Taktur had his grub while we went out for a ride and now I am finally getting to the whole point of this blog.

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Horses lend me the wings I lack.

I can ride for a brief 60 minutes without hurting.  Why can no one understand?  We walked, we tölted, we cantered, we laughed and we chatted.  That one hour’s pleasure made up for the grot I have all day every day.

An L4 prolapse is called The King of Pain and OMFG, that is so true.  But when I ride, I have wings albeit briefly, and I completely forget all about my pain and the restrictions that go with it. Everything miraculously disappears and I am allowed out of my cage.   Once I dismount, and am back on my feet, the pain-bomb starts ticking again – my feet become numb and “fizzy” and then the agony begins to creep up my legs like poison.

Anywho, we had a great ride.  We gave the horses a token gesture feed to say thank you and threw them out into their field.

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Iacs got only water because we hate him most and Daisy was not around to feed him his extra special hand-peeled grapes (that might not be true, btw).

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The post arrived.  I am on the list for an L4/L5 microdiscectomy. 8 weeks of waiting now.

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