The sweet taste of Karma

I admit it. I'm a bugger. I do things--every single day--to get the goats of everyone around me.
Recently, VBM's Mom left her watch in a treatment room at my clinic. I sent her a ransom email.
She had to take me out for chicken wings and beer in order to get it back. I have left all manner of faux bugs and body parts for VBM to find...in his water glass, in the shower, on his pillow.
I put a slice of cheese inside The Cowboy's flip phone. I am mischievous, and I know sometimes I can be a real pain in the ass. Whatever.
Up at the Farm, the Intrepid Cowgirl has paired me with a little black mare. This horse has not been ridden much, and while I'd like a little horse to ride, this little horse wants a person. This svelte lovely is Monique, and while she isn't a pony, I won't have to lob the saddle into the air in order to get it on her back--which is no small feat. The saddles at the Farm are 35lbs easy. Intrepid Cowgirl trains her horses the way you dream you would if you had them. She uses Frank Bell's training methods. Everything we learn, we learn it on the ground first. ICG says that if you can do it on the ground, you can do it in the saddle.
So we start with grooming. I go and get my little horse from the pasture, which is easy because all the horses will walk right up to anyone to say hello and see what is going on. She puts her head into the halter and walks easily for me. She stands patiently while I clean her up. She gives me her feet, gently, one at a time, so I can dig out all the dirt with a pick. Her eyes are liquid pools. She puts her nose in my neck and sighs. I love this horse. Since I am still prone to hanging around with my inner seventh grader, sometimes I take a minute to imagine riding her far up into the forest, where we will spend our summer afternoons walking in the shade.
All this sounds pretty idyllic, until I notice that my horse has several big kick and bite marks on her. I make a remark on this to ICG, who snorts. "Look at Gracey's butt," she tells me. "Your horse is a bitchy one."
After we get finished with our groundwork for the day, I watch my horse. She defers to the head mare, but after that, she is all piss and vinegar. Especially if I am around and any of the other girls want some attention. Monique will flatten her ears and chase them off. She bites and kicks. She bucks. She runs and stomps and snorts. She reminds me of Cooper, actually.
I ask the ICG why, oh why, has she chosen this little horse for me?
"Because she is you," she says, "like Cooper is you. They'll teach you everything you need to know."
I reckon they will.

Dogs is dogs

Cooper teaches me many things. Today he teaches that while he is a charmer, he cannot be trusted and he may very well be sent to the catfood factory to be ground up for food.
Up until yesterday, he hadn't destroyed anything. But yesterday, the very day after I wrote the glowing post about how great and beautiful and smart and cool and awesome he is--he went over to the dark side.
He chewed up the back seat of my car. That's right. My new car. The one that has been driven less than 2000 miles. The one that has a dog strainer in it and the one I WAS DRIVING WHEN HE DID IT.
This morning I googled "upholstery portland oregon" and found a place in SE. I called the number. When the guy answered, I said this:
"I need help."
He said this:
"Uh-oh."
I told him of my travails. He said "Bring it in and I'll take a look at it. Dogs chew up cars all the time. Dogs is dogs."
When I arrived, I had to find the door. Once inside, I surveyed a vast mess. A scrawny man emerged from a hole in the wall. I told him I was the one with the dog problem.
He came out and looked at my back seat. "Ah, " he said, "that's easy. 95 bucks." I almost wept with relief. " No shit?" I asked. "No shit, " he replied.
We walked back into the shop to settle things up. "I love dogs," he told me, " They sure chew up alot of cars."