Farm Friday

Dear children of mine, sweet husband of mine, you don't want to read this. Yes, it's technically still PG, but you don't want to read about your old hag Mom/beautiful young wife (cough) lusting after her boy toy.


Had a farrier appt for my horses earlier this week.

He only comes (pardon) about every 8 weeks, but I have to say holding the horses for him is the highlight of my barn duties.

He's a blond-haired, blue-eyed, former child model New Zealander who is maybe all of about 30. I always look forward to his "G'day Aan!" while the sunlight pools in his dimples.

I try to make nice chit-chat with him while he's bending over to trim their feet, picking, clipping, filing away.

I updated him on how Finnegan was just weaned and was gelded a few weeks ago. So that got us talking about testicles for a bit. The importance of removing them in most colts. They're even a problem in racehorses, sometimes, he says, as the testicles get in the way when they run.

Oh my.

All this while he's bent over with a horse hoof between his knees, his back to me. And I must say his hindquarters are a sight to behold. I'm given ample time to study them every time he's here. Where else am I supposed to look? I've never seen anything quite like it. It's a very physically demanding job, is farrier work, with all that bending, squatting, lifting, handling fractious young horses. It has sculpted most of his large muscle groups into something quite lovely to behold.

And now that it's getting on summer, and it's heating up a bit, things are definitely heating up a bit. Warm weather means a sleeveless tee over a nicely worn pair of jeans and a set of leather chaps. As he works, his bronzed, sculpted arms develop a glossy sheen. Sorry to use the word sculpted twice but there's nothing else for it. I find myself staring, jaw slightly dropped in awe. Then I shake my head hard and think to myself

I could be his mother. This is so wrong.

But really, is it any more wrong than a guy drooling over a poster of a swimsuit model? No. Most definitely not.

Except that my hand trembles when I write out his check.

Oh. My. God. If he EVER reads this I will die a thousand deaths of mortification.

But that's not likely. He and I run in very different circles. My circles being those that have anything to do with raising my pack of wild baboons. His circles are more the Harley ridin', boating, fishing, horseback riding, farrier circles. If we were a Venn diagram? The middle circle would be empty. No that's not true, it would have my three horses in it. But still, I think I'm safe.

I hope I'm safe.



OK then, to bring this back to an educational post on some level so I can redeem myself, I shall now provide for you a short glossary of terms you may or may not be familiar with regarding this farrier visit.


Glossary
Blond-haired, blue-eyed, former child model New Zealander who is maybe all of about 30: Hot.
Clip: Like cutting your toenails, only big, thick slices of hoof come off when he uses his nippers.
Farrier: You probably know this job as a blacksmith. Person who puts horseshoes on horses, trims their feet, etc.
File: Same thing as filing your nails, only with a big rasp over a foot long.
Hindquarters: Ass (pardon my French).
Leather chaps: Picture a cowboy. You know that leather they wear over the front of their jeans? That's chaps. Extends the life of their jeans. They're buckled on around the waist, with another set of straps wrapping around the upper thighs (flutter) to secure them in place. Aside from keeping their jeans cleaner, they also serve to kind of highlight the buttocks (see hindquarters, above).
Pick: One uses a hoof pick to scoop dirt and manure out of the hoof before getting started with the actual trim work.
Trim their feet: It's really a hoof, but we usually refer to them as feet.
Wrong: So very, very wrong. First Clooney, now my farrier. At my age I can only blame it on a last flash of hormones. I beg forgiveness from my family. From my friends. From my readers. And from God Himself.

But I still can't wait till he comes again in 8 weeks.

Ahem.



Judge me if you will, but please be sure you still vote for me. Heathen that I am.