I am so hopelessly right-hand dominant (nay, imperious and condescending better describes the correct attitude) that my entire world folds in and collapses on itself when I am unable to use my right hand.
And it’s not even my right hand; it’s my middle finger on my right hand. No, I am not (actively) trying to flip anyone off. But it’s amazing how much you do use that finger. For example, typing an I, a K, and the , all are typed by my middle finger (also random p’s and m’s - I didn’t learn to touch-type until I was in my thirties so I still do some things completely wrong).
I do feel, however, more than just a little bit of unrighteous pride about how I got this middle-finger injury. I find myself slightly ashamed of the fact that I have a soon-to-be (next month) six-year old horse that is still (essentially) unbroken. I mean, he has had a saddle on his back, and I have ridden him in an enclosed space. But mostly he is simply an 800 lb. pet who works on climbing in my lap at times.
However, this past week I have been at least getting him out for a walk every day. Part of it to ‘expose’ him to more events that he might freak out about (it’s much easier to control a horse on the ground; worst case scenario, you can drop the lead rope and just let him freak out on his own and/or run home), and part of it is additionally exercise for me (I am bound and determine to make these 50 lbs... well, maybe 30... okay, actually probably 8 move OFF my stomach and hips - and I am probably the only woman in the United States who desperately wants to lose as much of my chest measurement as possible) (wait a minutes, what was I talking about? Oh, yes).
One of the difficulties (to put it lightly) of walking Najale (my horse’s name; an entire other story) is his non-biological Mom. We got an abused mare when Najale was just under two years old, and Sally, who had only recently been separated from her probably 10th baby, immediately latched on to him like... well, like a mom would.
So anytime Najale is taken out the gate, Sally throws an equine-equivalent of separation anxiety - she races up and down the fence, whinnies, and works up a full sweat. I have tried everything I know in horse-psychology to work around this phobia of hers, but outside of injections of sedatives, nothing seems to work.
So for this week, it has been a TWO horse walk, and until today has worked out fairly well. Sally is pretty slow, and Najale is a VERY fast walked, so I do have to slow one down and try to get Sally to trot occasionally, but it’s been working.
We do have three horses that pasture down the road a bit, so I actually was eager to introduce them all. Wednesday, we walked by, Thursday, I let them sniff and rub noses (and Sally, the senior citizen of the bunch, was the one who reared, brayed and snorted), and today.... oh, today.
I think I just relaxed my guard some (an action which is the reason I have pretty extensive arthritis in my right hand - another story for another time). Regardless, Najale was the one who decided a little show-and-dance would be nice. He honestly doesn’t scare me when he rears up on his hind legs and waves his front hooves as high as he can get them - he’s just showing off, and has been doing it for YEARS without even having come down on me. But he decided to do a little lean-to-the-left, lean-to-the-right, stand-up, sit-down, fight-fight-fight, would be appropriate, and JERKED the lead rope completely out of my hand. And I guess my middle-finger of my right hand held on the longest - I don’t think it’s broken, just strained.
AND IT HURTS SO WHY THE HECK AM I WRITING THIS LONG-WINDED BLOG ENTRY?!!?!!?!?
That which does kill us only makes us stronger (HA!)
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