There are some bigass changes in the works in my house, and the next couple of months are probably going to drive me to baldness. This should not be confused with big ASS changes, which implies something is changing about my big ass. It is not currently, as I greatly enjoy Thin Mints and the season is upon us.
Petey, unfortunately, didn’t last terribly long. He got sick and died pretty suddenly. He was followed by Precious (who was a MASTER at jumping out of her “pen” (a laundry basket) in the house as a baby and had a fabulous time frolicking in our yard when spring hit.
No, I was not responsible for naming either goat.
Because a small, fat pony was EXACTLY what a house full of tall Scandahoovians (who could probably step over him) needed. But he was cute as hell and nobody wanted him to be sent away, so there you go. We took him.
Anyway, if you know horses at all you probably know that studs can be a little…hmm…unmanageable. Even when they’re short. In order for us to get him adopted by a nice family, our boy had to get the snip-snipperoo. I imagine the same people who won’t get their dogs neutered are currently crossing their legs, but that’s the way of life on a farm, people.
So the process for these ball removing shenanigans is for the vet to come do the actual procedure (which takes all of 15 minutes, if I remember correctly) in his vet-like manner, and for the next two weeks or so SOMEONE has to make that poor nutless pony walk for at least 15 minutes twice a day. As I’m sure you can imagine, there’s some soreness involved in the healing process, so walking isn’t really the best loved exercise for a stiff-legged sore-crotch pony.
That pony hated the fucking sight of me after two days. I coaxed him with treats, I was immensely gentle and walked really slow. I brushed and attended to him. He loathed me: I was the bitch who made him hurt for two weeks while he healed. Sigh. I’ve had horses since I was born. I remember all their names. I remember all their quirks. I remember all their favorite treats.
I CANNOT REMEMBER THIS PONY’S NAME. I remember how cute he was. I remember him staring at me with one baleful eye from under a thick forelock. I remember him stiffly shuffling away when I tried to catch him in the pen every morning. To this day I can’t remember his name. As a pet he was pretty much an epic fail. But he WAS ridiculously cute.
What was (or is) your oddest pet?
6 thoughts on “Things Are Weird Right Now, So: DISTRACTIONS!”
When I was 3, we had a horse named sugar, who kicked me in the chest and sent me flying, I got up just laughing with no adverse affects.I lived in the same city you do now with 2 roomates. One of the roomates had a pet tarantula and the other one had snakes and a pet scorpion. Somehow I inherited the tarantula and I moved in with a mutual friend of your hubby's and mine, and him and his girlfriend at the time adopted him and named him Spidey.(sorry, my grammar is horrible today)Oh and ask Heather Jarvis about owning Guinea Hens…I think she said they were not eating wood ticks like they should have been….
Not your hubby's girlfriend, but our mutual friend's girlfriend.
I followed. 🙂 Also, rumor has it (if straight from Husband's mouth counts as rumor) that Husband had both a tarantula AND a large snake as pets. These were prior to me (being in his life, not being a pet…you know what I mean. I have bad grammar today too!)…and may have been a dealbreaker while we dated if he'd still had them. *shudder* My grandma still has guinea hens on her farm…they apparently do help with ticks, but they're still fingernails-on-a-chalkboard irritating.
Well, the tarantula might be the one I left with the friend and girlfriend, that your hubby lived with after I moved out. I have no idea about the snake. The person I lived with who had a snake, gladly kept the snakes and scorpion.
aren't all pony studs called the same name? A$$!
I had a pet waterbug that I kept in a red wagon on my front porch. I fed it coke and it stuck to the coke and died. Very traumatic.