Lori and OzzyIt took forty minutes in the pea soup fog early this morning to bring the horses in. Something about the early morning darkness convinces them they are feral. Although with Ozzy’s skin he would last about two minutes in the wild. Not to mention his feet….
Horses are apparently unable to connect the sight of human figures in the dark with the same people they see at least twice a day 365 days a year. This mental dilemma triggered an extended episode of BAF.*
Last night, also in the dark, found me in the backyard manning the grill. I was making dry-rubbed drumsticks for the tailgate, following Roger Mooking’s recipe, whoever he is.** My original plan was to grill them in the morning, and then I came to my senses. Also baked some S’mores cupcakes. I did not have a cupcake tin so I just filled the paper cups and crammed them tightly into a baking pan. My hope was that maybe squeezing them together would give them more support and shape. They exited the oven shaped like amoebas but luckily they tasted better than they looked. Hubby liked them but was suspicious and wanted to know “what is the brown stuff on the bottom?” That would be Graham Crackers, Rick. As a Boy Scout, Rick went home with a headache before his first overnight. Obviously before the campfire was even lit. The chicken looked just like the photo in the magazine.
It was a joint meet with Goshen, and the drive to the meet at George Brook’s was foggy. When we pulled in to park, the field was already three-quarters full. Both first and second fields had around fifteen riders each. There was a good turnout of Goshen members, some of whom looked familiar. Our world is pretty small, and we run into each other here and there. We may not know names but recognize faces. They are a really nice group, seemed happy to be out, and I always enjoy seeing them.
One gentleman on a sweet paint-draft cross looked familiar, and I was pretty impressed with myself when I recognized him as one of our newer members, Bob Dustin. Unfortunately his name is Charles. Charles coped the same way I did when my Grandmother called me Bruce and just let it slide—too polite to correct me. Even when Faith followed my lead and addressed him as Bob. Both he and his horse Ollie are such perfect gentleman. It was nice to see the two of them out; we don’t see this pair enough.
It was beautiful with the fog, not warming up until later in the morning with a nice breeze. Our hounds made us proud. One of them has a lovely, deep voice. One bitch puppy still seems to have a little difficulty reconnecting with the pack; she definitely has the idea and just lacks the experience to get there. The hound work we were able to see close up was riveting.
Evidence of our work clearing trails was everywhere. We used the new trail that Em, Janene, Nate, and Jan (who had mobilized her entire paid landscaping crew into action) had cleared. This precluded the need to run around the point and brick house. The new cut-through allowed us to go straight behind the house and keep up with hounds. Later we used the trail Sharon and I cleared with the fun little log at the top of the hill. Obviously there are many other trails there cleared by many other people. I am sure it gives each individual that worked on them a sense of pride when they cross them also—even though no one else knows. You have to do it for that secret little feeling of satisfaction, and I must admit it does feel good. Trail clearing may also be the only time you are able to have a good visit with your friends, who are also members. It can be—I cannot believe I am saying this—fun.
On the way in, a really nice blue roan horse ridden by a Goshen member got tangled in barbed wire cutting through the hedgerow exiting the rough field that used to be “off limits” to us. The horse, that I had admired before, was being very good about standing quite still. I had some difficulty getting my wire cutters free of their case. (My pointer finger I fear was chipped a few weeks ago and is too painful and swollen to grab well. A splint would probably help, but I type for a living and Kaiser, despite being an HMO providing excellent healthcare to their members, is ruthless towards their employees. Besides it will heal on its own.) It looked like the wire had first entangled the horses incredible tail, clumps of which were on the ground, but had then wrapped around his legs. Due to good manners and respect for his rider he stood with one foreleg raised, encircled with wire, while every cell in his equine brain was no doubt screaming, run!
Getting to the horse was the next obstacle. Fighting through brush and crossing our territory on foot gives me a sense of admiration and respect for my horse who does it at speed and remains upright. Ozzy is no ballerina, but he keeps us safe. Once the horse was free, which really only took snipping one wire, I realized that there was a whole section of fence complete with posts hidden beneath. Nothing like struggling around trying to free it from the weeds holding it down (and hidden) and falling on your butt in a patch of thorns in front of fifteen other people. With nowhere thorn-free to put my hands to lift myself up, I wallowed around like a turtle for a while before regaining my feet. My dignity has now left the building. Bud did dismount to assist, and managed to not fall down. His dignity remains unscathed.
All‘s well that ends well. Horse was uninjured. Yummy tailgate. Fantastic hounds. One of our very favorite landowners. The best visitors. Weather beautiful. Even a full frontal view of Porkchop the three hundred-pound “pocket” pig. Does not get much better than that.
Posted March 3, 2017
* Borrowing Ben Swope’s perfectly descriptive phrase for “bucking and f*rting.”
** Roger Mooking, born in Trinidad, is a celebrity chef and recording artist.
Lori Brunnen is a regular contributor to Foxhunting Life. She hunts with the New Market-Middletown Valley Hounds (MD), and brings her unique brand of madcap to our pages.