A Bad Idea...

Pookey Bear is having a good day today.

Me, not so much.

It all started with a little filing on Rita's hooves, which we had noticed were chipping badly, and which Allen thought needed a tiny touch-up before her next scheduled farrier appointment.

So we dragged out the hoof stand, rasp, nippers and gloves, and went to work. Rita stood like a champ, and Allen was able to get her ship-shape in no time.

Then he went back to his office, leaving me in the shed with the hoof stand, the rasp, and Helen.

Helen had a little chipped place on her RF too, I noticed.

Helen has been a very good girl lately.

Helen has been standing quietly every single time I have picked out her feet, for going on six weeks.

Are you seeing the seeds for the bad idea that took shape in my mind?

Surely, I thought, I can handle this one tiny little chip all by myself.

Surely, I thought, despite Helen's checkered past, she will continue to stand there, dozing quietly, while I shape this foot up a bit?

Forgetting that discretion is the better part of valor, I forged ahead, and, grasping the rusty rasp firmly in my sweaty ungloved hands, I picked up her foot and began to file.

Initially, she stood very quietly. I was quite pleased with the way the process was going. In what for me was a very uncharacteristically bold move, I decided to go ahead and slip that hoof between my knees, just like the farriers do.

A short while later, I woke up. My return to consciousness was slow, with my vision gradually clearing until, through the haze of churning dust and sand, I could just make out the shape of the rafters on the ceiling of the shed. The sight of the rafters, combined with the smell of manure in my hair and the shooting pains in my back, told me that I must be lying on the ground. My eyes traveled slowly over my torso and legs, which were splayed into an unnatural position, one foot twisted sideways. My right hand seemed fine, but my bloodied left hand was still curled around the rusty rasp, unable to let go.

As the dust continued clearing, I noticed Helen, standing a few yards away and gazing at me sweetly, looking much like she does in the photo above, only without the safety of that Priefert panel between us. It was a miracle she didn't return to finish me off.

Next time, I am going to just pick up the phone and call the farrier.

Too soon old, too late smart.