It’s been a crazy week.
Still sick and pathetically fatigued, I dragged myself through the rest of the week without seriously maiming anyone out of frustration and spent the weekend in recovery mode. For anyone interested, I highly recommend a diet of 4 gallons of water, various terrible take-out food, cuddle comas with a cat, and an obscene amount of Gilmore Girls (You’re a lifesaver, Netflix…)
On Saturday, I pulled myself together long enough to meet Maria at the barn so she could massage Nakai. Kai just loves Maria and her magic hands. She found two small knots on either side of his back, but otherwise reported he was in fantastic condition! For the past week I’ve had his ERU medication on standby, fearing that the stress of travel and the ride might induce a flare up. His eye is still flare-free (violently knocking on wood here..) and he only lost a small amount of weight.
Monday morning rolls around and Ben and I are without water. We’d been experiencing some odd pressure issues despite the well pump being less than two years old. I begin stressing over the possibilities while Ben plays plumber. By Wednesday, we had a new pump and another virus – Ben finally caught what I had.
Despite being his turn to feel like death, he ventured to the farm with me last night to walk the pup and the horse. Honey’s not exactly horse broke (we are getting there!), and every time she careens around or bounces in front of his face I silently thank Nakai for his patience and sense of humor. Speaking of his funny bone: upon arriving at the barn, Nakai’s up at the top of the field, picking at the round bale. It takes me two minutes to get his halter and by that time he has disappeared. Vanished. I take a peek in the two sheds and wander the field, calling his name and becoming increasingly worried that he’s learned how to Houdini for real this time.
Then he nickers.
And nickers… and nickers.
Through the small crack in the side of the other shed, I see an eyeball.
I march down the field and in the shed, at the farthest corner, is my horse. He nickers again and walks toward me, looking at me like “who… me?”
But really. How can I stay mad at this old man face?