With the weather finally drying up it seems like all I’ve been reading is blogpost after blogpost of people enjoying long, beautiful rides on their horses. In every photo everyone is laughing and smiling, hugging their friends and viewing the world between the frame of two perky little horse ears.
I know I have a great job, and a great family, and I live in a place that has perfect weather year-round, but I can’t help myself.
I really, really, really miss having horses in my life.
The more I sat there thinking about it, the more depressed I got.
Poor, poor, Becky. Poor, horseless Becky.
It was getting pretty maudlin, when all of a sudden I realized — this isn’t me. I’m not the kind of person who just sits around feeling sorry for myself. I should quit whining and actually do something about it.
So I did.
I stole a horse.
What can I say? I’m an addict. My name is Becky, and I’m addicted to horses.
I took my time choosing my mount. After all, I live smack dab in the middle of Orange County. There are a lot of distractions, noise, and spook-worthy things going on. I would need a calm, sensible, sound horse.
Aarene from Haiku Farm is always going on and on about how sensible her mare is. So I borrowed Fiddle.
Which, I guess, is stealing.
I rode Fiddle throughout my long, long day in front of a computer screen.
It helped the day pass a little quicker, but not by much.
Since I’m still nursing we were forced to take periodic breaks. I was hoping that viewing my STUPID breast pump framed between two equine ears would make it seem less distasteful, but alas, it was not so. I really hate pumping.
Fiddle was kind enough to avert her eyes throughout the process.
When it was finally time to leave work, Fiddle had a bit of trouble navigating the stairs and we almost ate it BIG time. I would not recommend trying to take a photo while “riding” a horse down stairs. This almost became “The Blog of Becky: How to Break Your Leg.”
The drive home went the way it normally does.
Look, Fiddle, red taillights.
Look, Fiddle, more red taillights. Wow. What a shocker.
Yes, Fiddle, we are still behind the same white sedan. Around here in southern California this is getting close to qualifying as a friendship. If we tail him much longer we’re going to have to buy his daughter a high school graduation gift.
Besides, we’d better scoot over before he thinks we’re stalking him. I’m sure he’s wondering why the woman behind him keeps taking pictures.
That’s right, Fiddle, that is the turn off for Balboa Island.
No, we don’t get to go there. Yes, I know it’s a beautiful day outside and walking on the boardwalk would be fun, but you don’t seem to understand. Here in Southern California we don’t actually get to do all the cool, touristy stuff. We’re too busy driving everywhere in traffic and working long hours so we can afford the exorbitant rent.
I agree, Fiddle. The wetlands are very pretty.
But no, you can’t actually walk in them – you just get to stare at them from the road or from the other side of a chain link fence. It’s better this way. If the fence wasn’t there people would run in and build a bunch of houses on them.
No, Fiddle, that decimal is not misplaced.
It really is $4.27 for unleaded – and this is the corner that always “wins” for cheapest gas in Orange County whenever they have a “Call in your gas prices!” contest on the radio.
Say “hi” to Bad Max, Fiddle.
Yes, I know that moments later you got a chance to understand why we call him Bad Max when he snuck out the front door and we had to chase him down as he wandered down the street — even though he KNOWS he’s not allowed to do it. Bad, Max. Bad.
After a brief tug of war over Fiddle, some time in the corner and one spanking after he kicked me in the shin ( what was I thinking? Waving a horsehead on a pen to my two year old – a horse COMBINED with something he can use to write on walls?!?! HEAVEN!!!– and then not letting him touch it?), I prevailed and was able to introduce Fiddle to the DragonMonkey:
The Squidgelet took in our new equine friend with all the usual excitement he generally displays:
After thirty minutes at home it was back to the car. After all, that’s where you spend 99% of your time in California.
The drive was uneventful— and loud. I wish standard-issue DragonMonkeys came installed with a volume button.
Fiddle insisted we pull up close to this truck:
Since it was 90 degrees yesterday (a SCORCHER for Southern California) we decided to head to our second home: Frogg’s Bounce House. Once again, I can’t say enough good things about this place. It rocks.
Fiddle watched the DragonMonkey play with the trains.
She watched him jump in the inflatable bounce houses.
She watched me drag him screaming and kicking from the place as it closed. She watched me stuff him red-faced, sweaty, and still howling into his car seat.
She and I both agreed that we had our hands too full for photographic evidence.
I “rode” Fiddle back towards the house. I was prepared to cook a lavish, 7 course, gluten-free meal, organic meal chock-full of essential vitamins and minerals in order to nourish my precious son.
Fiddle insisted on drive-thru, even though I explained the only thing available for my son to eat would be french fries.
She didn’t care.
Fiddle’s a terrible influence. Bad, Fiddle, Bad.
Somewhere right after I took this shot the DragonMonkey managed to get his grubby little hands on the
pen with the piece of paper taped to it real live Fiddle, so we had to send her back.
I miss having my own horse.