I'm Not a Total Failure, Dammit...
Desperation + A Need To Ride + Raging Winds = Horse Not Happy With Wind In His Ears
I headed out on my horse, and now that I'm looking back, I'm thinking, DO YOU SEE HIS DAMN EARS?
Let me tell you something about my horse. I bought him for several reasons. One of those reasons was that, when we met, Zydo was quite sedate. He was quiet, bored, and friendly. I typically break up with people like that, but in this case, the sedate and relatively friendly character I had in mind was a FRICKIN' HORSE, and so these are all qualities to be admired.
About the ears. My horse's ears are not meant to be like clocks in the spring time. I do not want them to spring forward. I'd like to see them lolling lazily at the side of his head, much like people near a pool in the summer time. Lazy. Flipping carelessly through magazines. Contemplating moving, and then realizing how much effort that would take, and so deciding to stay put.
I managed to stay on top of my dancing, prancing, skittering horse for near thirty minutes. And then, as we neared The Ranch once more, planning on looping around and going on our walk once more, terror planted itself firmly in my heart because I DID NOT BUY A HORSE SO THAT I COULD LEARN TO DANCE. (Ironically enough, I do not want a dancing horse, but I have a horse named after a South American dance, the Zydeco. IRONY.)
As soon as I was back at the laneway, I LEAPT off my horse and stood on the ground beside him. My mother was somewhat bewildered when she saw me return beside my horse, instead of planted firmly on top of him. Later, she bemoaned the fact that she got pictures of me leaving, but got no pictures of my graceless return.
I think Zydo was a little confused to be returned to his stall with such haste; he paced for a moment in the doorway, whinnying out at Tia because, HEY! He was having FUN, dammit! But then he realized that his fearful rider was standing beside him in tears, and so he stopped his pacing long enough to let me lean on his shoulder, and I'm sure that he briefly contemplated biting my back fat before he realized that I NEEDED SUPPORT, not a chunk of my ass missing, and so he stood beside me and nuzzled his nose between my shoulder blades.
I did not want my day to be a complete and utter failure: Each time I go out riding, I have specific goals in mind. If I don't complete those goals, I feel like I have failed on a mission, and I need to repair the damage ASAP.
I briefly contemplated tacking up the horse again, going back out, and RIDING past the plastic bale wrap rather than fearfully dancing around it, standing up in my stirrups and praying. But no.
Instead I returned the the safe haven that is my kitchen, cracked open a beer, and polished my boots.
And so, even if my RIDE wasn't successful, my BOOTS were successfully polished.
Sometimes you don't achieve all your goals; but that doesn't necessarily mean failure. It just means that as you're furiously and tearfully ripping the tack off your horse, you need to come up with a NEW goal.
And my new goal was achieved quite properly; my boots are shiny, leather treated, and free of mud and debris.
In all, it was success. I just needed to come up with a new version of success before admitting failure.