The Princess P

Princess P was a name reserved for Pia when she was at her most...opinionated and self assured about how life *should* be.  And Frankly it's a name that's never really fit Prairie's personality or tendencies, but OMG - today, it fits.

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.

......

nothing.

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.