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dragonlady7Something about the amount of heat in zobar's apartment has been giving us both really odd dreams. The landlord turned the heat on last week-- a week ago, i think-- and ever since it's been really too hot in here in the mornings and evenings.
This morning I was having a very involved dream and I don't remember it at all. Then Zobar woke up, and left for work, and I woke up and bade him farewell, and sat up for a few minutes, pondered what to do, and fell over and asleep again. My dream digressed into a sort of daydream, and then returned me to dreamworld. Of which i remember very little, but I woke deep in thought about my horses.
When I was a child my family owned two horses. I was probably ten when we got them, and seventeen when we sold them. The first we got was Tiger. He was a 15.2 hand buckskin, with brown-tipped ears and tiger-striped legs. He was an intelligent but highly over-nervous animal, very high-strung and high-energy, but not in an enthusiastic way. He was just nervous all the time.
We figured that was because horses are herd animals, so we bought a second horse. We had wanted to anyway; both my older sister and I were horse enthusiasts, and my dad was interested.
Unfortunately, the horse we got wasn't very helpful. Her name was Sugar and she was a kind of bitchy, fairly sweet Quarterbred/Appaloosa mutt, of about 14.2 hands. (That's a full hand, or 4 inches, less than Tiger.) She was mostly a dappled white/gray with brownish accents-- no real spots, like pure appaloosas, but she had an appaloosa's mottled nose and the rings of white showing around her irises (most horses only widen their eyes enough to show the whites if they're frightened. Sugar never got that excited about anything, but her whites always showed, just a bit-- a breed characteristic that is beyond my understanding of genetics to explain). She was very fat when we got her, and the reason for this appeared quite soon: She was a bully. In every herd of horses, there is a dominant mare. Well, she was it. I don't know what made her so dominant; she was lazy as hell, and didn't give a damn about anything, but she was a pushy dame and we once saw her plant both rear hooves in poor Tiger's off hindquarter when he dared to stand too close to the barn.
So, she only made him more nervous, and feeding the horses became a much longer task as we had to stay there and make sure that she didn't eat his food. He lost weight, and fortunately so did she because she was dangerously obese when we got her. He got more and more nervous and psycho, and she had herself a pleasant little time. But if we ever separated them, he would be inconsolable. She would get jittery and he'd go nuts. So, we left them together.
Eventually he went nuts-- we think he might have had some kind of degenerative nerve disorder anyway, but one day while Katy was riding him, he freaked out, fell over, rolled down a hill (fortunately she fell off in such a way that he didn't squash her), got up, and started running. Dad had to catch him in the minivan as he dashed off up the road-- whereupon Tiger ran into the car, breaking off its rearview mirror with his hip.
In the end he was recaptured, but had broken a bone in his hip either in the fall or in the running into the car. It wasn't a load-bearing bone, but it was a bone nonetheless- much like a human breaking his tailbone, it hurts like hell and makes you walk funny, but doesn't keep you from walking. We summoned the vet, and katy tried to calm him by feeding him an apple. However, he neglected to chew the apple, and it became lodged in his esophagus. The vet, recalling that last time she had visited, Tiger had been unmanageable when she had tried to give him his shot, refused to come. Even as Katy ran in, in tears because her injured horse now had an apple stuck in his throat. (Not instantly life-threatening, as horses' tracheas and esophaguses remain entirely separate for their entire length, so he could breathe; he just couldn't swallow.) But the vet persisted. She was helpful enough to give us the number of another vet who could help us instead, but when we called them, they were helping a horse who'd had an encounter with a barbed-wire fence and lost, so they'd be out for a while. [I've always wondered why the vet didn't tell us earlier that she wouldn't come back ever. Like, just after she was done with Tiger. "OK, guys, I think your horse is dangerous, and I don't think I can justify my risk in coming back here. You should find another vet." Tiger never actually hurt anyone-- he bit my arm once, and left a nasty bruise; he also kicked Katy repeatedly but never hard enough to break anything and she gave as good as she got-- he kicked her leg, she punched his neck, they both retreated and glowered, and then she went on with what she'd been doing, they went out for a ride, and they both came back exhausted and happy. Freakin' exercise junkies. Anyhow, the vet didn't see fit to express her feelings on the animal until he was in an emergency situation.]
So after about an hour and a half, the vet and his assistant showed up, and calmed us all down, including the horse. (Sugar was tied up in her stall the whole time, to keep her from getting involved. One thing for sure, she wouldn't have been any help.) He managed to extract the apple from Tiger's throat, along with all the sweet feed he'd absentmindedly eaten afterward. He determined the extent of the damage (minor) and then did a whole series of tests on Tiger. He had lain down before the vet had arrived, and had been unable to get up again, so katy had freaked out again thinking something was wrong with him, and the vet and his assistant simply flipped the horse over and he stood up immediately. He'd been on his injured leg, and so hadn't been able to bear the pain of bending it to get it under himself to get up. But the vet really wasn't happy with Tiger's reflexes; he thought something might be wrong in the nervous system somewhere. But he hadn't injured his spine at all, or his head. So we were all at a loss as to what could be wrong.
So, we set up a fence to keep Tiger separate from Sugar, so she couldn't bully him. They both spent much of their time at the intervening fence, seeming to talk to each other. We fed him a lot, as the vet pointed out that he was really too thin to face the oncoming winter; he'd be much happier a hundred pounds heavier. Sugar weighed about 1200 when we got her, and eventually evened out at probably 1100; round, but not obese. Tiger weighed about 1000. He was down a bit, and looking bony. We tried to feed him more, but it was difficult to get more food into him. The vet suggested dousing his feed in corn oil, and feeding him a higher concentration of corn along with his sweet feed. (For years we'd added corn to the normal feed during winter, knowing that corn is very good fuel. Sweet feed is a combination of various grains and some corn, doused in molasses. It provides a lot more nutrients than the bulk of the horses' feed, which is roughage like hay and grass, but horses will eat it until they die of tummy-aches, so you have to be careful with it. It tastes good, I can tell you; a little salty, but sweet. Unfortunately, human teeth can't chew it, so no novel and interesting snacks there.)
So anyhow, we started Tiger on a pampering regimen, trying to get him better before winter. But, inexplicably, he dropped dead later that month. We found him lying on the electric fence with grass from the other side of it in his mouth. There had been no struggle. He'd just stepped over the fence (he'd tangled with it several times, and had usually been the victor. Sugar was terrified of the fence; Tiger really didn't care but had nowhere better to be, and so usually left it alone unless really bored) and taken a few bites of grass, and fallen over. The fence couldn't have killed him; it wasn't enough to kill even a human, though it was unpleasant, and that's how it worked... if he'd been alive as the fence continued to shock him, he would have struggled. But he didn't. The ground was unmarked. Whatever was wrong with his nervous system had finally zonked him. Maybe it was the electric fence that finally did him in; maybe his screwed-up nervous system couldn't handle the little shock, or something. We'll never know. Sugar knew what had happened, and was very nervous, but never told us, and soon forgot.
She stayed on, happy but lonely as the only horse, and was terribly nervous in after days. Horses don't like being alone. During blizzards we would have to blockade her into the barn; she would feel obligated to stand in the north center of the pasture with her back to the wind, keeping watch, unless we forced her into the barn. She'd then stick her head out into the wind until her ears filled with ice, keeping watch. Herd animals are nervous like that. She was in excellent health, as we could regulate her diet exactly, and we did keep her regularly exercised and all, but... when katy went away to college, we sold her, because by myself I probably wouldn't take as good care of her, and mom and dad didn't want to spend any more money on keeping her up. Mom sold her for far too little to a riding school in vermont, who knew that they were getting a great deal, and agreed with us that we could come visit her anytime if we wanted. So katy and I went and visited her once or twice, but then Katy went away, and I didn't have my license yet, and then I got busier, and never had the time. So we never visited her anymore. But I know she had no trouble fitting in there; she's always been bossy and sociable. She never minded giving riding lessons either. And I noticed this place didn't keep the horses in quite such large groups; they had smaller, subdivided paddocks, so she wouldn't be thrown in with a big bunch of horses and get dangerously fat again by pushing them all around.
So I'm sure she's fine.
But why was I dreaming about them?
Very weird to think of that now.
Anyhow.
The weekend was pleasant... didn't do much on Saturday, spent saturday night playing online, and updating stuff on the network (my website got deleted by accident, but i put it back up, and now i don't have to FTP anymore). We were going through the entire Penny Arcade archive when Zobar decided it was bedtime.
We then spent Sunday in The City, looking for a jacket for Zobar. He needs a new fall/spring jacket, as his old one is now indeed antique and ratty. We found nothing. We went to Old Navy and H&M and Macy's and Gap and... there was another place but I don't remember... and in none of those places did we find anything that even almost fit him. See... his pants size is 29 x 36. His shirt size... well, a medium is rather too big around for him, but the sleeves are of course only about 3/4 length. So he usually wears a large, so the sleeves will be a little bit short but the body far too huge. He just can't understand how these garments actually fit people.
I found a sweater in H&M that fit him beautifully, but he was distinctly uncomfortable-- it was kind of stretchy, and so it actually fit him around the body, more or less, while the sleeves were long enough. He didn't like it "clinging to him" like that, though I found it highly pleasing to the eye. Dude, I'm sorry, I just think he's attractive. Sheesh. But he refused to even consider it, even though the only sweaters he owns are these huge wool monstrosities with patterns in purple and red. Come on, he could wear a nice sweater like this to work... sheesh, i should get it for him for his birthday or something. But... he'd never wear it, so what's the point? Sigh.
Then we went to a pub for dinner, which was quite nice. We came back here at like 8:30/9:00, so the PATH wasn't too too crowded-- convenient, being able to get off at Hoboken, when it's going to go to Hoboken and sit there for 30 minutes anyhow with the doors open so the unventilated air can fail entirely to circulate, but freely-- eugh. The PATH is so obnoxious. I like that the Light Rail goes all the way through. It's expanding, too. That's nice. But the top speeds, the entire way from Newport to Hoboken, are like 5 mph. It's a beautiful system, but the speed limits are so low for its entire length that it's entirely pointless. A bus might get you there faster, even with traffic. But... at least the Light Rail is clean, ventilated, and usually not too crowded. And doesn't give me motion sickness, like buses do.
So anyhow... it was a nice enough weekend, if uneventful, and I'm managing to stave off a growing feeling of pointlessness in my life.
This morning I was having a very involved dream and I don't remember it at all. Then Zobar woke up, and left for work, and I woke up and bade him farewell, and sat up for a few minutes, pondered what to do, and fell over and asleep again. My dream digressed into a sort of daydream, and then returned me to dreamworld. Of which i remember very little, but I woke deep in thought about my horses.
When I was a child my family owned two horses. I was probably ten when we got them, and seventeen when we sold them. The first we got was Tiger. He was a 15.2 hand buckskin, with brown-tipped ears and tiger-striped legs. He was an intelligent but highly over-nervous animal, very high-strung and high-energy, but not in an enthusiastic way. He was just nervous all the time.
We figured that was because horses are herd animals, so we bought a second horse. We had wanted to anyway; both my older sister and I were horse enthusiasts, and my dad was interested.
Unfortunately, the horse we got wasn't very helpful. Her name was Sugar and she was a kind of bitchy, fairly sweet Quarterbred/Appaloosa mutt, of about 14.2 hands. (That's a full hand, or 4 inches, less than Tiger.) She was mostly a dappled white/gray with brownish accents-- no real spots, like pure appaloosas, but she had an appaloosa's mottled nose and the rings of white showing around her irises (most horses only widen their eyes enough to show the whites if they're frightened. Sugar never got that excited about anything, but her whites always showed, just a bit-- a breed characteristic that is beyond my understanding of genetics to explain). She was very fat when we got her, and the reason for this appeared quite soon: She was a bully. In every herd of horses, there is a dominant mare. Well, she was it. I don't know what made her so dominant; she was lazy as hell, and didn't give a damn about anything, but she was a pushy dame and we once saw her plant both rear hooves in poor Tiger's off hindquarter when he dared to stand too close to the barn.
So, she only made him more nervous, and feeding the horses became a much longer task as we had to stay there and make sure that she didn't eat his food. He lost weight, and fortunately so did she because she was dangerously obese when we got her. He got more and more nervous and psycho, and she had herself a pleasant little time. But if we ever separated them, he would be inconsolable. She would get jittery and he'd go nuts. So, we left them together.
Eventually he went nuts-- we think he might have had some kind of degenerative nerve disorder anyway, but one day while Katy was riding him, he freaked out, fell over, rolled down a hill (fortunately she fell off in such a way that he didn't squash her), got up, and started running. Dad had to catch him in the minivan as he dashed off up the road-- whereupon Tiger ran into the car, breaking off its rearview mirror with his hip.
In the end he was recaptured, but had broken a bone in his hip either in the fall or in the running into the car. It wasn't a load-bearing bone, but it was a bone nonetheless- much like a human breaking his tailbone, it hurts like hell and makes you walk funny, but doesn't keep you from walking. We summoned the vet, and katy tried to calm him by feeding him an apple. However, he neglected to chew the apple, and it became lodged in his esophagus. The vet, recalling that last time she had visited, Tiger had been unmanageable when she had tried to give him his shot, refused to come. Even as Katy ran in, in tears because her injured horse now had an apple stuck in his throat. (Not instantly life-threatening, as horses' tracheas and esophaguses remain entirely separate for their entire length, so he could breathe; he just couldn't swallow.) But the vet persisted. She was helpful enough to give us the number of another vet who could help us instead, but when we called them, they were helping a horse who'd had an encounter with a barbed-wire fence and lost, so they'd be out for a while. [I've always wondered why the vet didn't tell us earlier that she wouldn't come back ever. Like, just after she was done with Tiger. "OK, guys, I think your horse is dangerous, and I don't think I can justify my risk in coming back here. You should find another vet." Tiger never actually hurt anyone-- he bit my arm once, and left a nasty bruise; he also kicked Katy repeatedly but never hard enough to break anything and she gave as good as she got-- he kicked her leg, she punched his neck, they both retreated and glowered, and then she went on with what she'd been doing, they went out for a ride, and they both came back exhausted and happy. Freakin' exercise junkies. Anyhow, the vet didn't see fit to express her feelings on the animal until he was in an emergency situation.]
So after about an hour and a half, the vet and his assistant showed up, and calmed us all down, including the horse. (Sugar was tied up in her stall the whole time, to keep her from getting involved. One thing for sure, she wouldn't have been any help.) He managed to extract the apple from Tiger's throat, along with all the sweet feed he'd absentmindedly eaten afterward. He determined the extent of the damage (minor) and then did a whole series of tests on Tiger. He had lain down before the vet had arrived, and had been unable to get up again, so katy had freaked out again thinking something was wrong with him, and the vet and his assistant simply flipped the horse over and he stood up immediately. He'd been on his injured leg, and so hadn't been able to bear the pain of bending it to get it under himself to get up. But the vet really wasn't happy with Tiger's reflexes; he thought something might be wrong in the nervous system somewhere. But he hadn't injured his spine at all, or his head. So we were all at a loss as to what could be wrong.
So, we set up a fence to keep Tiger separate from Sugar, so she couldn't bully him. They both spent much of their time at the intervening fence, seeming to talk to each other. We fed him a lot, as the vet pointed out that he was really too thin to face the oncoming winter; he'd be much happier a hundred pounds heavier. Sugar weighed about 1200 when we got her, and eventually evened out at probably 1100; round, but not obese. Tiger weighed about 1000. He was down a bit, and looking bony. We tried to feed him more, but it was difficult to get more food into him. The vet suggested dousing his feed in corn oil, and feeding him a higher concentration of corn along with his sweet feed. (For years we'd added corn to the normal feed during winter, knowing that corn is very good fuel. Sweet feed is a combination of various grains and some corn, doused in molasses. It provides a lot more nutrients than the bulk of the horses' feed, which is roughage like hay and grass, but horses will eat it until they die of tummy-aches, so you have to be careful with it. It tastes good, I can tell you; a little salty, but sweet. Unfortunately, human teeth can't chew it, so no novel and interesting snacks there.)
So anyhow, we started Tiger on a pampering regimen, trying to get him better before winter. But, inexplicably, he dropped dead later that month. We found him lying on the electric fence with grass from the other side of it in his mouth. There had been no struggle. He'd just stepped over the fence (he'd tangled with it several times, and had usually been the victor. Sugar was terrified of the fence; Tiger really didn't care but had nowhere better to be, and so usually left it alone unless really bored) and taken a few bites of grass, and fallen over. The fence couldn't have killed him; it wasn't enough to kill even a human, though it was unpleasant, and that's how it worked... if he'd been alive as the fence continued to shock him, he would have struggled. But he didn't. The ground was unmarked. Whatever was wrong with his nervous system had finally zonked him. Maybe it was the electric fence that finally did him in; maybe his screwed-up nervous system couldn't handle the little shock, or something. We'll never know. Sugar knew what had happened, and was very nervous, but never told us, and soon forgot.
She stayed on, happy but lonely as the only horse, and was terribly nervous in after days. Horses don't like being alone. During blizzards we would have to blockade her into the barn; she would feel obligated to stand in the north center of the pasture with her back to the wind, keeping watch, unless we forced her into the barn. She'd then stick her head out into the wind until her ears filled with ice, keeping watch. Herd animals are nervous like that. She was in excellent health, as we could regulate her diet exactly, and we did keep her regularly exercised and all, but... when katy went away to college, we sold her, because by myself I probably wouldn't take as good care of her, and mom and dad didn't want to spend any more money on keeping her up. Mom sold her for far too little to a riding school in vermont, who knew that they were getting a great deal, and agreed with us that we could come visit her anytime if we wanted. So katy and I went and visited her once or twice, but then Katy went away, and I didn't have my license yet, and then I got busier, and never had the time. So we never visited her anymore. But I know she had no trouble fitting in there; she's always been bossy and sociable. She never minded giving riding lessons either. And I noticed this place didn't keep the horses in quite such large groups; they had smaller, subdivided paddocks, so she wouldn't be thrown in with a big bunch of horses and get dangerously fat again by pushing them all around.
So I'm sure she's fine.
But why was I dreaming about them?
Very weird to think of that now.
Anyhow.
The weekend was pleasant... didn't do much on Saturday, spent saturday night playing online, and updating stuff on the network (my website got deleted by accident, but i put it back up, and now i don't have to FTP anymore). We were going through the entire Penny Arcade archive when Zobar decided it was bedtime.
We then spent Sunday in The City, looking for a jacket for Zobar. He needs a new fall/spring jacket, as his old one is now indeed antique and ratty. We found nothing. We went to Old Navy and H&M and Macy's and Gap and... there was another place but I don't remember... and in none of those places did we find anything that even almost fit him. See... his pants size is 29 x 36. His shirt size... well, a medium is rather too big around for him, but the sleeves are of course only about 3/4 length. So he usually wears a large, so the sleeves will be a little bit short but the body far too huge. He just can't understand how these garments actually fit people.
I found a sweater in H&M that fit him beautifully, but he was distinctly uncomfortable-- it was kind of stretchy, and so it actually fit him around the body, more or less, while the sleeves were long enough. He didn't like it "clinging to him" like that, though I found it highly pleasing to the eye. Dude, I'm sorry, I just think he's attractive. Sheesh. But he refused to even consider it, even though the only sweaters he owns are these huge wool monstrosities with patterns in purple and red. Come on, he could wear a nice sweater like this to work... sheesh, i should get it for him for his birthday or something. But... he'd never wear it, so what's the point? Sigh.
Then we went to a pub for dinner, which was quite nice. We came back here at like 8:30/9:00, so the PATH wasn't too too crowded-- convenient, being able to get off at Hoboken, when it's going to go to Hoboken and sit there for 30 minutes anyhow with the doors open so the unventilated air can fail entirely to circulate, but freely-- eugh. The PATH is so obnoxious. I like that the Light Rail goes all the way through. It's expanding, too. That's nice. But the top speeds, the entire way from Newport to Hoboken, are like 5 mph. It's a beautiful system, but the speed limits are so low for its entire length that it's entirely pointless. A bus might get you there faster, even with traffic. But... at least the Light Rail is clean, ventilated, and usually not too crowded. And doesn't give me motion sickness, like buses do.
So anyhow... it was a nice enough weekend, if uneventful, and I'm managing to stave off a growing feeling of pointlessness in my life.
