Saturday was to be Boca's and my debut with the local hunt club.
To say I was excited was a gross understatement.
The plan was to go with H and her mare Piglet for Hound Exercise and a potluck cookout afterwards.
First off, I needed to move 8 bales of hay that I had been storing in my trailer up to my hay loft. That may not sound like a big deal, unless you know our barn set up. The hayloft is accessable from the ground floor only by a set of wooden stairs. To move hay up to the loft, you have to hoist the 50lb bale on your knees, hold onto it by the baling twine, and march it straight up the steepest, narrowest staircase God ever created, while trying not to slip on loose hay and tumble over backwards to your death. It is a kind of like the worst form of barn-fit workout you can imagine. Hence storing spare hay in my trailer.
|Sort of like this, but steeper.|
I decided to do this Friday night before my lesson, when it was 89 degrees with a hundred percent humidity. To say I rode in my lesson like a limp noodle would be optimistic at best.
Friday night was tack cleaning, because H decreed that we were going to go looking presentable, and not like some hillbilly hayseed Noobs. Much to my husband's dismay, I hauled home my bridle, girth and new 3-point breastplate to clean in front of the t.v. I hand-washed my ear bonnet, lint-rolled my saddle-pad and polished my bit while watching HBO's True Detective.
Anyone who knows me at all knows that I am no Domestic Goddess. Any event which involves cooking or bringing food of any kind throws me into a tailspin and stresses me out to no end. Saturday morning I got up early, and tried to keep it simple, deciding on bringing sliced watermellon and baking cookies for the potluck portion of the event. I bought disposable tin trays, sliced the melon, baked the cookies, and I was golden.
I loaded up Hub's truck, with my change of clothes for that afternoon and headed to the barn. On the way, I gassed up the truck and got ice for the cooler. I was PREPARED.
I got to the barn two hours before the time we planned to load up. I opened all the windows in the trailer, bagged and hung the haynets, filled the water container. I packed the wash bucket, the sponge and the scraper, plus an extra bucket for drinking water.
I did mine and H's stalls, set up grain for the night, and set up outside hay and water for the next day. At this point, I was sweating so heavily, my waterproof mascara was running.
About this time, my fellow boarder Chris pointed to the ever darkening sky and said "It looks like rain". NO. No Chris, it does not. I steadfastly refused to conceed it looked like rain, even as the lessons being held in the outdoor packed up shop and fled to the indoor.
About this time I got a call from H, who was 35 miles away, and close to where the location for the hunt club is. It was pouring.
At this point, I was still not convinced our plans would be thwarted. I called the hunt club stables, and was told hound exercise was still being held.
H and I decided to wait until the very last minute to call it. I really didn't want our first outing to be in questionable weather. H's mare Piglet had some sizeable cuts on her legs from getting cast a few weeks ago, and was going in wraps. Not to mention, I am not the most experienced horse trailer driver yet, and didn't want to be hauling 8,000lbs of trailer + horses through questionable weather.
By the time it was the appointed hour to load up, the sky looked like this:
I was so disappointed, but we made the decision not to go, and live to fight another day.
I was so, so bummed, but knew we were making the right choice.
I drove home through a rainstorm that was so bad, people were pulling over to the side of the road to wait for it to pass. Of course, 20 minutes after I got home, the sun was out.
So, that is the story of how our Tally-Ho ended up as a Tally-No.