So I had a good flat lesson (meaning, we WTC both ways, I felt moderately effective and the mare didn't flip me off too many times) and I figured that since she's had a couple days of hard work in a row, it would be a good day to put Prair outside again for the first time.
I booted her up in case she acted like a lunatic.
I switched to a light sheet in case all her antics got her sweaty and warm.
I even gave her a small cocktail in hopes that would take the edge off enough to keep her from jumping the fence and galloping to the next county.
Then I prayed.
I prayed to the horsey gods that she wouldn't undo months and months of painstaking rehab work with one dumb flying mare move.
And then we took a left out of her stall instead of a right and we headed for the open sunshine. We jigged. Prair threw her head in the air like a terrified, dominant llama, and we jigged toward the closest (smallest) paddock.
Then, because there is some metaphysical law that states all paddocks must have a large puddle by the gate, we stopped. Because Prair hasn't had to do a puddle since Spring 2014 and it just wasn't going to work for her.
Naturally that meant I couldn't pick my way along the fence line and hopscotch myself through the puddles and to the other side. No no, instead I had to march my (freshly polished, sniffle) boots through the puddle and drag the big mare behind me.
Then I gave her a treat, unclipped the lead and scurried out of the way.
and I mean, nothing.
She stood, snorted at her neighbor twice then walked herself into the run-in shed and stood under cover.
To be clear. First time turned out in eight (+) months - and the mare... turned herself in.
I will truly never understand mares.
|Prairies go here. away from puddles.|