Mouthy Monday

Hey, I'm writing...I'll have some new stuff up this week, pinky swear!

Untl then...this piece comes from Mary, a reader lured from the FHOTD.

This should strike a chord in all of us who juggle horses and the "other" life.


Nothing about the day was out of the ordinary, there was no reason for me to think that anything out of the ordinary did or would occur. Just another day of boring routine, get up, have breakfast, go to work, come home, yada yada yada.

I drove home on autopilot, thinking of a thousand things and thinking of nothing. Skillfully avoided the potholes in the long driveway, hitt the button on the garage door opener, park, go into the house, change, head out to the barn, all done in the regular haze of after work decompression.

I am over half way out to the barn before I become somewhat aware that not all is right with the world. The barn door is open, second guessing now, am I sure I had closed it this morning? Of course I had, I always do, no reason to leave it open. Heart rate has increased noticeably, eyes start to scan my surroundings, darting everywhere, is there anything else out of place? No, not really...wait, what on earth are those pink things scattered around on the ground? I pick up the pace and get close enough to recognize they're some of the rolls of vetrap I had in the tackroom, they're still in the unopened plastic wrap but they've all been flattened, as though someone had deliberately stepped on them and squished them, I couldn't have done a more effective job if I'd used the vise in the shop.

With mounting concern and caution I continue on to the barn, picking up various items that had been in the tackroom that morning, a halter and leadrope, my expandable and expensive aluminum measuring stick, right hand leather glove (no sign of the left), half a dozen buckets (one of which had been full of very pricey mineral but was now empty).

I get to the barn door and survey the damage. The tack room door is wide open, anything that could be moved or dropped on the ground has been. Handfuls of beet pulp pellets litter the floor, a water pail has been spilled and mixed in with the pellets and mineral creating a gooey mess which had been walked through and tracked up and down the barn aisle. The roll of paper towel is nothing but a bunch of small tattered pieces strewn about. Seriously, if the perpetrator had put as much effort into improving his life as he put into shredding that roll he'd really be going places! Brushes are 30 feet from where they should be, I find my hoof knife at the end of the barn, the nippers are kicked into an open box stall and the rasp is just outside the door. And I still can't find my left glove.

Hooligans! Juvenile delinquents! If I get my hands on them they'll wish they'd never been born! What is wrong with todays society that the children we're raising can show such disregard for someone elses property? Where did the parents go wrong? The trouble with todays youth is that no one takes responsibility for their actions...someone is going to pay for this!

And then it hits me...they're still here! I freeze as I look into the eyes of the six boys. They know they've been caught red handed but not a one of them has the decency to look sorry, they look bored and a bit hungry, but definitely not ashamed. I haze them out, close the barn door and get a pail of oats to entice them into the next corral. I'll clean up tomorrow.