. . . you should be grateful. :-p I present for your enjoyment, "The Continued Adventures of Heather in Hickville," or, "Why I Should Have Stayed in Bed This Morning."

This morning, I decided to practice trailer loading with my horse, Rascal. When we were finished, I backed him up to close and lock the trailer door, an endeavour requiring the use of both hands. So I dropped the rope -- the 22-foot-long rope. Most of the time, he's pretty good about "asking permission" before he moves. Something spooked him pretty good, however, and while I was in the middle of shutting the door, he took off at full speed around the front of the trailer and all the way back to his pasture. I sighed and trekked back to get him.

I knew he was going to take some serious groundwork this morning to calm him down enough for me to have a nice, quiet ride. So I decided to make him do circles on the side of a hill, which would require him to really think about where he was putting his feet (and would be a good workout for him, too). We did a couple of laps and he started to calm down.

Suddenly, his foot sank down about eight inches. He pulled himself out of the hole and continued circling. I moved a little so he wouldn't hit that spot again. But the next turn around, he sank around that area again anyway.

And all of a sudden, he took off like Air Force One. That's when I saw yellowjackets ALL OVER HIM. That soft spot in the ground must have been their nest. I dropped the rope because I figured he needed to get himself out of there just as fast as he could, and besides, I needed to swat frantically at the wasps coming at ME. It must have looked rather comical: Horse running for all he's worth dragging a 22-foot-line behind him, girl flailing arms trying to run down a hill in cowboy boots and chaps. (Thank goodness I was wearing them, though, because I only got bitten on my torso.)

Anyway, Rascal ran to the bottom of the hill and towards the street and stopped. As soon as I got close enough to grab the rope, he took off again across the street. So now we are a horse dragging a ridiculously long rope tossing his head and bucking, and a girl trying to run in boots and chaps yelling "CRAPCRAPCRAPCRAPRASCAL" at the top of her lungs.

He ran all the way to the back of the five acres across the street. This would be the property of my neighbor known only to my family as "The Moron." He has engaged in some form of animal cruelty for as long as he's lived here and has had the cops called on him several times. Rascal ran to the little stalls the Moron's horses were in and started doing LAPS AROUND THE STALLS. My horse has like no energy ever. The other horses were getting excited at this point, too, running back and forth and whinnying. And I'm all, "If you make your owner come out here, so help me, I will knock his block off if he gives me crap." (When my horse has gone nuts and I've been bitten all over by yellowjackets, I don't care if you're Sylvester Stallone, I will not take guff off of you.) Stupid Me stepped out in front of my pony, trying to get him to stop. He didn't. He kept running full-bore at me. So I did jumping jacks like an idiot (a natural horsemanship technique for keeping a horse from invading your space -- minus the "like an idiot" part), and he turned around bucking and kicking and tossing his head. Finally, he got himself cornered in a stall with only three panels (open in the front), and I was able to grab his rope. Turned out he still had two yellowjackets under his flymask. I did some quick exercises to get him calmed down, and we headed back across the street.

I was starting to sweat by now, and apparently salt really stings in bites, so I decided to hop on Rascal bareback and just ride him back to his pen. Normally I can mount bareback no problem. So I got him positioned and swung my leg over -- and he walked off while I was in midair. I bruised my bottom and re-twisted my knee pretty nicely. He just looked at me as if to say, "What are you doing down there?"

That is more excitement than anyone should have before eight o'clock in the morning.

La" The moral of the story is that from now on, I will not complain about how dull life is, because something will indubitably happen to get my adrenaline flowing. Problem is, adrenaline isn't usually stimulated by good things. :-p"Zorra