On The Moosehunter, and Other Dating Woes

On the twenty eighth of October, 2010, I wrote this post. It was before a date with The Moosehunter and my heart was all afflutter.

I'm not sure how to post about The Moosehunter because I was so wrapped up in him for so long that I can't begin to bring it to life with words.

Simply put, I wanted him. I wanted to be with him and I wanted everything he represented (or rather, what I thought he represented) to be my life.

And at the end of October, I got it all.

I'll never forget the day he walked into my new living room, scooped me into his arms, and proceeded to watch horror movies with me. And then the banter and the chatting and the cuddling that proceeded to follow. My heart almost fell right out of my chest after the first horror movie ended and he suggested we watch another.

The following weekend, he declared us to be dating while we were driving in his fantastical car. Again, I about fainted. We called each other, we chatted, we met, we had dates.

I was on top of the moon. I was so far over the moon I couldn't even begin to speak. Do romance novels make you swoon? Imagine swooning a thousand times more than any romance novel, and then imagine swooning a thousand times on top of that.

He invited me to haul corn with him one day which is a country girl's dream. He met me at the end of my driveway at six o'clock in the morning and I clambered up into his eighteen wheeler and proceeded to have the date of my dreams. He spent the whole day calling me "Rubber Ducky" as I [mis]guided him through the highways of Montreal. We got lost, we were turned around. We had no idea where we were except that we were headed East. We giggled and laughed and talked like we were the best of friends. He asked me to read the map for him and I told him he was barking up the wrong tree if he wanted me to get him anywhere because I'm hopeless. He just giggled his shy, country guy giggle and said "Ten-Four, Rubber Ducky." Every time he said it my heart leapt into my throat and I struggled to breathe for a few seconds afterwards.

For four long weeks I was walking around with a stupid grin on my face that nothing, no one could remove.

I was chatting with Joomy during one of our long overdue dinner and coffee dates and getting ready to leave when he called me. I was actually in the restroom when he called and she screamed "It's The Moosehunter!" I scrambled out of her bathroom and we chatted for seventeen minutes. Joomy was grinning and giving me the thumbs up in the backround as I pranced and leapt around her living room. I am the least dainty person in the world. It has been said that I have the grace of an elephant.

But his phone call made me leap and twirl around Joomy's living room because he was talking to me.

The rain was pouring down, I was out of gas and the roads weren't good, but I drove to his house because he had invited me to do so and my heart was in the sky.

I honestly couldn't believe that finally, after all this time of waiting, my dreams were coming true. I wanted him and he had clearly displayed to me that he wanted me. Everything was finally perfect. I'd lost my horse, lost my job, my car was quite literally duct taped together. But I had my Moosehunter and nothing would keep me down.

Upon arrival to his house I was unceremoniously dumped with no reason cited. I've dated plenty of people and I've been dumped several times. I have to say that this was the worst dumping I've ever been a party to.

Unceremoniously.

Dumped.

If it is shocking to those who know me, it is most of all shocking to me that I have shed only a single tear over The Moosehunter. I left his house and carried on with my life, going to work and riding horses and cuddling on the couch with my Beagle.

The tear I shed over him was like something out of the movies, much like our time dating was like something out of the movies. I was carpooling to work with my coworker and she just kept repeating "I can't believe it. After all that's happened, I just can't believe it." And at that time, feeling the way I was feeling, a single tear escaped my right eye and I thought I would lose it completely. It rolled sadly down my cheek; I wiped it away with my gloved hand, took a deep breath and a sip of my coffee.

That was the only tear I've shed over The Moosehunter.

In discussing this with Mal over the past months, we've come to a conclusion: My time with boys needs to end. Upon reviewing my history, I've lived at home for three and a half years. During those three and a half years, there has always, at some point, been some object of my affection. If not the object of my affection, then the object of my yearning and really? This needs to end. Mal's proposition was this: Take a six month break. Any guy who comes your way will not recieve any attention or thought or anything else because you're going to be on a six month break.

I allowed this to swirl around in my head for about a week.

The middle of December came along and some innocent individual began messaging me on Facebook. A date came out of this and prior to my date, my mother begged me to think a little more clearly on what I was doing. Surely a six month break from dating couldn't hurt?

I immediately interrogated both Mal and my mother to see if they had been consulting on this matter.

But no. Neither one has been speaking to the other and both these women, who love me and care about me, think I need some time to clear my head.

Joomy doesn't think it possible for me to go six months without some dating drama or other. (Neither, quite frankly, do I).

But I am going to try. My plan, at this point, is to go six months focussing on my work and my riding. No more boys. I don't need the hassle.

The me of a year ago would have fallen over at the thought of not dating for a full six months.

The me of today finds it a rather relaxing thought.

I'll keep you posted on how the next six months go.

On the Untrained Dog...

Mal and I were discussing dogs and their training (or, in some cases, their lack thereof) on the phone this evening. I was speaking of Dixie's higher points: What a wonderful pet she is; how she loves me and is semi-loyal to me, if I am holding treats; how she ...

Mal broke in at this point and stated that Dixie smells and I should wash her more often.

Whatever. My dog is odiferous at best and heinously stenchy at worst. (You will be happy to know that she only gets to sleep in bed with me the day that she has a bath with Pantene shampoo and conditioner.) I can accept her faults.

We then discussed the higher points of Dixie's training.

And by that I meant that we discussed the fact that my dog does nothing on command and will bite people who try to get her off the couch.

But wait! Dixie can sit! She can sit! I swear, if you ask her to, Dixie will sit!

To which Mal countered: But will she sit if you are not holding food in your hand?

Well then. Never mind.

But Dixie comes! She comes when she's called, and that, my friend, is worth its weight in gold.

Mal then stated that she has witnessed, on several occasions, Dixie responding to the 'come' command. She has witnessed, many times, myself standing on the porch hollering at my dog to get over here! And eventually, Dixie will wearily make her way to me.

As pointed out by Mal, this is probably because she has a headache from all the yelling and has given up on a peaceful afternoon jaunt.

But wait! Dixie does come on command if you use a horn!

A horn?

Yes. My family owns a horn. Quite literally, it is made from the horn of a longhorn steer. A longhorn steer horn that has a hole drilled in it such that you can blow into it like a trumpet.

And Mal says: You blow into a longhorn steer horn like a trumpet?

And I say: Yes! And Dixie will come to that!

So you have to carry a horn with you everywhere you go?

No! You don't have to carry a horn with you! Because when you're hunting, you carry a gun! And when you're desperate for your dog to come back to you in the bush, you unload your gun, remove the barrel, and blow into it much like you would blow into a longhorn steer horn. Or a trumpet.

So picture, if you will, my entire family standing in the bush during the first two weeks of November. We are cold, anxious to go home, and awaiting a beagle who doesn't often respond to voice. In desperation, we all begin blowing into the barrels of our guns, and magically, my beagle appears.

That, my friend, is training.

But Mal feels that if you have to carry a gun with you to get your dog to come on command, this is not entirely practical.

Fine. I'll grant you that. Impractical? Surely.

The one thing Dixie is full trained on? The one thing she understands the most? Let me share with you:

If Dixie sees you, in any room in the house, at any point in time, picking up a blanket?

She knows to run to the couch and cuddle into the pillows.

Untrained, indeed. My dog knows how to act and when. Just pick up a blanket and you'll see.

Because I Haven't Been Able to Post...

I have an awful lot on my mind lately.

Pressing matters, some might call them.

When I have matters that are truly pressing on my mind, I find it hard to post because I don't want to go overboard on the personal info on my blog.

And that's OK.

But then you end up with a bunch of posts in a row about my horse. Because I could always write for hours on end about my horse.

It is now mid-December here in CowTown and the roads are none too pleasant. My drive to work on Tuesday took about two and a half hours, more than double the usual time.

This morning the regular roads had all been cleared but the road I live on was not. And so, this morning I was making my very slow and steady way down the road and something was in front of my car.

And I thought, no, it can't be that.

There simply can't be a Monarch butterfly in front of my car.

It is mid December here in CowTown and the roads are none too pleasant and of all the things in front of my car, a Monarch butterfly can simply not be one of them.

My first inclination was to stop the vehicle and weep.

After Zydeco died, I saw several shooting stars and over the months I have continued to see them. Since winter has reared its ugly head, there has been severe cloud cover and I haven't seen a single shooting star.

I decided this was due to several factors: Perhaps my boy is taking a break from jumping up there in Heaven. Perhaps I haven't been outside at the right times.

Or maybe it is time for me to move the hell on and stop thinking about this damn horse.

And then, today, I saw the butterfly in front of my car.

If I had been on my horse, instead of in my car, there would have been a massive spook and I surely would have ended up head first in the snowbanks of CowTown. Because that is how Zydo felt about Monarchs. He feared them greatly, to say the least. Monarchs created some of the most interesting rides I ever had on that horse. Their presence also created some of the most interesting bruises I have ever had.

After weeks of seeking out shooting stars and seeing nary a one, I saw a Monarch.

IN THE MIDDLE OF DECEMBER.

I tentatively asked my mother tonight if I could tell her something that makes me sound like a complete and utter psycho. Like, seriously, Mom, if I say this out loud, you're gonna think I'm nuts.

And she, not thinking of Zydo, thought that of course it would be possible for a Monarch to hatch in December, but that it would probably die within the day because of the temperature.

She lost me at the part where she said it was possible for a Monarch to exist in December.

Because I definately saw one this morning.