Flattened

At the appointed hour, I was admitted into the Boss's side of the house. Dinner was odd egg noodle-ish pasta with watered down tomato sauce. Strong nourishment for the coming day. We watched some videos of her at events during the oh so non-delectable repast. Plans were made for the next morning, when we would have the horses in the trailer by 4:30 or so to haul over to an indoor to do galloping sets before the Boss's SO had to prepare to go to work. (The SO actually appeared a reasonably sane individual, save in his choice of mates.)

Horses loaded by 4:30? Are we graining before hand, hour to digest... good lord, what time will we need to be up?

After final horse night feeding and check, I stumbled up to my odorous attic lair. In bed I tossed, turned, debated, and perhaps cried.What am I doing? This is crazy, this lady is crazy, Cappy won't be happy here... he'll be sore backed or crippled in no time. 

I had quit my two jobs, Petsmart and stall cleaning at a quarter horse breeding farm. If I went home, I had to find a job, and soon. My stomach felt like a seething pool of ulcers. Or poisonous maggots. Or something else equally awful.

In the pitch blackness of the early morning, we loaded the three horses to be galloped and drove the fifteen or so minutes to the indoor arena. I had a pleasant four or five year old TB gelding who was going Training and knew what galloping sets were about. Other than having my stirrups higher by a couple of holes than I had been accustomed to, this was comfortably familiar turf. We did frequent changes of direction, with him offering smooth flying changes. He was a nice, pleasant beast. Perhaps I should stay. The horses seem really pretty well trained. I can deal...

As we finished up and untacked, I ran my hand with medium pressure down the gelding's back, and he flinched away from my hand, muscles spasming in pain. No. This horse with great conformation is sore in this program. Cappy will be a wreck in no time. One thing I could NOT afford was to have to buy a different horse. Cappy was the most athletic for the least price tag I could have ever hoped to find, with a good mind inside.

The ride back had me saying thank you, but explaining that I just didn't feel this situation was going to work for me or my horse. I did not go into particulars, or berate their care or judgement. After a few attempts to get me to change my mind, the rest of the ride home proceeded in uncomfortable silence.

Boss and I put the horses in crossties as SO hurried to the house to get ready for work, and we worked silently as the horses were brushed off and feet picked. I replaced blanket liner, blanket, and water proof sheets on my charge and SO's, making sure to secure the straps in the style they'd been on before we'd left. Boss remarked that it was too bad I wasn't staying, as I surely didn't require much training. Sure I didn't want to stay?

Uh, hell no, lady.

We took care of the rest of the morning duties, and I went up to my attic and starting hauling down all the belongings I'd drug up the previous morning. On the trip out, my little car had been so jammed full I'd had to lean forward to see the side mirror to check for traffic.Restuffing it in such a hasty manner was not easy.

Just like mine, but not mine.

My solitary trips up and down the three flights of stairs were punctuated by George's plaintive howls from the basement.

Less than 24 hours after I had arrived, I was on the road heading home. An eternity of cramped back driving later, I pulled into my parents' driveway. The car had been braking with effort most of the way home, and been handling poorly in the last few miles. I gave it a cursory glance as I walked in and sat catatonic for an hour or so. I called the quarter horse farm, who were sad for me but thrilled for them that I was back in town and could still clean stalls. One half of an obstacle out of the way; I needed more money that what I made cleaning stalls, but at least it would still be something coming in. I called the transport company that was due to pick Cappy up in a few more days and cancelled his trip to LaLa Land.

I sat a while longer in an immobile, depressed lump.

Figuring I should start to get stuff unloaded, particularly before my parents came home and wanted the full story, or worse, to help me unload everything, I walked back out to my car, to be met by a flat driver-side front tire.

What a freaking awesome day.

I unloaded everything piled in the trunk, got out the jack, and wrestled the flat tire off and the donut on. I drove to a fast food place for some dinner, and emptied the rest of the car when I got back.

Taking the car in for tire patching and service the next day, turns out I needed new brakes, rotors, calipers... I was lucky I'd made it home at all.

Uh, yeah, definitely need to make more money than just cleaning stalls.