I got awesome news from my trail buddy regarding the Big Orange Booty.  She knocked off my lease for July, since he was lame for the duration.  Then she had the vet out, who determined that Ox has an abscess.  But!  No concerns about time-crunch anymore.  Her friend gifted him to her, so he'll be staying.

I made a vinyl for him.  Or... I stole a graphic and made it a vinyl.

She's told me multiple times that she trusts me totally and that I am to treat Ox like he's my own.  And the brain is like, game on!  Pony time!  But the heart is like.. traitor.  So while I've ridden other horses while having Archie, I've never sought a partnership with another horse.  This is new territory.  I find myself fighting my standoffish nature.  "Archie gets two treats, so Ox gets two treats."  Ox needs hugs.  Ox needs scritches.  Ox needs more than Archie's hand-me-downs.


So you two-horse households, is this normal?  One you instinctively love unconditionally and one red-headed step child (hah.  hahahaha)?

In the riding front, I've hopped on the half-shod wonder a few times over the past week and done primarily ring work.  I've found that when I come in the afternoons, the Kid is bone-dry and blowing, but still happily munching grass.  He does better after I hose him off and set him under the fans, but I'm concerned about the lack of sweat.  He'll sweat after we do a little work and he appears to be sweating in the mornings, but not at the peak of the heat.  Before you go, "Sounds like anhydrosis!", Archie was diagnosed as anhydrotic the summer of 2010 and has been on OneAC since.  He gets half-dosed during the cooler parts of the year and full-dosed during summer.  Then he also gets two beers a day during the summer.

Trimming trees undersaddle and Granpa gave no shits.

Then building a brush fence.

Then just loving life.

I didn't expect to like this city.  We've been to a bunch of places that I wasn't overwhelmed by and a few that I've been instantly smitten with (Luxembourg, anyone?).  So, yeah, given the hoards of people, the lack of A/C and the freaking cost, I was sure I wasn't going to want to go back to NYC.

Guys, I totally want to go back.  Maybe not tomorrow, but definitely at least once a year.


For a fucking introvert, I thrived on the crowds.  I mastered jaywalking between waiting cars.  I approached strangers and swayed them with my over-pronounced southern accent and pet strangers' puppies in parks.  I spoke French twice and gave directions.

But, my Yankee friends, there are three non-optional things y'all have gotta work on:  bras, bathing and air conditioning.  Because of the lack of air conditioning, D and I took an obnoxious amount of showers every day.  Leave our magical little hotel room and instant sweat.  Barf.  While I'll agree that it was hot, it was a dryer hot than down here.  I think the perception of humidity is off because as soon as I got off the plane in Savannah, I was embraced in my lovely, missed warm bowl of soup.

Okay, here's the rough run down:

We arrived.  Our hotel was called the Yotel and it was like a tiny Ikea-dreamed dorm room.  It was magical.  It was amazing.  The bed was mechanical.  Things were hidden in the walls.  There was no separation from the bathroom and now I know my husband a little bit better.

Like an immediate about-face from the first photo.

Sliding glass door and a curtain.  We've got a solid marriage, guys.

There was food.  Burgers.  Beers.  Another bar, called the Pony Bar.  Because pony kegs.  A Broadway musical off a book I loved (Wicked).  We wandered Time Square.  I got my nose pierced in a tiny upstairs tattoo parlor.  We ate Italian late at night.  We slept for hours and hours on the softest mattress I've touched in my life.