Why, it’s Cinnamon! Everyone’s favorite super-geriatric AQHA! And what you can’t see is that about a foot behind her tail is my kids’ swingset.
The story is long, humiliating, and involves chasing and inappropriate displays of pajama-ed (and not so pajama-ed) bottoms, but the short version is MFM (major fence malfunction) and NSIODP (now she’s in our dog pen). Friday is the first opportunity we’ll have to fix her fence (we think deer got tangled in the electrical tapes and tore half the thing down, and the charger was iffy to begin with), so until that point I get to yell at barking dogs who are pretty sure that she is Something Major.
Actually, the dogs are VERY funny about her. It has totally woken the instinctive responses to somewhat hilarious effect.
The corgis go “OK, large, smells like hay. Must be Cow. Hold it still. DO NOT AT ALL COSTS LET IT LEAVE. Send Cow back to hay pile! Send Cow back again! BAD COW!”
The terriers go “OK, large, smells like hay. Definitely Giant Rat. KILL AND EAT GIANT RAT!” They are so sure that it must be a huge rat that they’ll come running over, barking, and then dive into her hay and tunnel around, convinced that they’ll find her under there and be able to eat her. And then they pop back up again, see her, freak out barking, dive back into the hay again.
For obvious reasons, we’re letting them out only to do their business. Which means that my house has become a House of Destroyed Objects.
At least I’ve got better things to do than obsess over the election–right now the only reason I want to get past Tuesday is to get closer to Friday!