Two stallions feeling frisky
“Daddy…??? Do you remember when you said…”
A week ago Darling and climbed out of our less than comfy hotel beds and were greeted with the Burns weather we remembered from our last visit; wind, rain and hail. Felt like home.
This was the morning of the big event; the Kigers were being adopted out. The first two days were for viewing and chatting and socializing…and viewing some more. Since Darling and I didn’t get there until Friday, we didn’t do as much viewing as most of the folks. But it didn’t matter because we weren’t adopting. No, we weren’t. My barn was full enough and Darling hadn’t committed to selling Quiet Storm. Which meant no more horses.
“Daddy…remember when you said if I sold Quiet Storm, I could get a Kiger???”
“Daddy…I didn’t see a Kiger I wanted, but there are other pretty horses here and they’re taller than Quiet Storm….”
Have I ever told you how tightly that little girl has City Boy wrapped around the pinky finger? Not that I haven’t been known to use that to my benefit from time to time. I am, after all, a Desperate Horsewife. However, this time I’d said no. And I’d meant it. I didn’t search out a horse trailer and had driven City Boy’s car.
“You can’t put a horse in my car,” City Boy told her. City Boy hadn’t heard those words I’d heard when I’d claimed earlier in the week that without a truck and trailer, I wouldn’t be bringing home a horse. Those words that went like, “Any fool knows you can hire a truck and trailer.”
Darling seemed to know that and asked if she found a ride, could she get one? City Boy, the softie, said yes. And Darling set out to find the perfect horse and a ride home for it. I was sure she wouldn’t, but she did manage to work her magic on Steve, our friend who lives 50 miles south of us. Not a problem, he said, he’d be happy to help fill my barn. Thanks, Steve, remind me to scratch you from the Christmas card list.
This pretty color is called grulla
In order to bid on a Kiger, you had to pre-register. We hadn’t, so that was out. Not that we’d found anything outside of cute little babies or handsome older stallions that we liked in the Kiger crowd. But down in the pens full of mares, the only horses that seemed to catch Darling’s eye were between 4 and 5, a bit older than I wanted her working with. Two or three, I told her, but she saw nothing. She was feeling pretty down, which is when Steve stepped in to rescue her once again.
“Y’know, there are a few mares that were passed on during the first round of bidding earlier.”
“We’ve not got a number, Steve, we didn’t register,” I was feeling pretty confident at this point.
“No problem, no problem. Just use mine!” He handed Darling the yellow bidding card, much to her delight, and she trotted merrily up to the bleachers just in time for round two, where all the horses who’d been passed on the first time were re-0ffered to folks who’d missed out on their favorites earlier.
Darling’s new filly still hasn’t got a name.
I’m thinking, “Mammas in the Poor House Now.”