The speeding planet burns
I’m used to that
My life’s so common it disappears
And sometimes even music
Cannot substitute for tears
Two weeks and counting since the last time I played with Rocky. I’ve been out a few times to make sure he has all his limbs and to feed him some apples I’m not going to eat. It took half an hour to lead him to the Back 80 on Saturday because he developed a threshold along the path, so we did a lot of yo-yo and resting and licking and chewing and I never even had a flash of impatience, just responded and waited and eventually he wanted to go up the hill so we did, and he grazed.
I was proud of myself, afterward, for squatting down during the persistent pressure of the draw — I started with combing the line, had to go up the phases until I was holding the rope steady and he had option to release the pressure by taking one step forward. Even twitching a foot toward forward resulted in a release. And my squatting down and exhaling (the “boof”) and smiling and having all the time in the world for him to decide to release the pressure and then a long time to lick and chew after he released himself, that was savvy. Not “acting like” I had all the time in the world. Truly, deeply feeling it. Knowing I had all that time, and that we’d cross the threshold before world’s end anyway.
And then I’d back him up and we’d cycle through again until he was begging PLEASE let me up the hill to the grass.
I held him for the barefoot trimmer on the 5th and today I did the gentle, rhythmic, Level 1 Friendly Game with the carrot stick and string, keeping the flies off while he and Rociada ate dinner. He seemed to appreciate that and kept munching his hay.
I have barely left the house for two weeks. Literally going 48 hours in a row without opening the door except to let the dog in or out. I ate all the real groceries and then started experimenting with the staples – oats, canned tomatos, brown rice – so that I wouldn’t have to shop. I have managed to shop, I hosted my family on the 2nd, I had a great time this past weekend with friends, watching movies and baking cake from scratch and bringing the mini donks into the backyard to mow the grass.
I haven’t relapsed into the blackness of the past two years, but this stint of the depression has been the most severe since the relocation from L.A. to the foothill farm.
This is another one of those naked posts that rambles into revealing, not-obviously-horsey diary territory, including depression, weight gain, and loss. You won’t miss out on the horsemanship journey if you choose to skip the rest.