Dear Dixie
Dixie sometimes surprises me. Let me rephrase that: Dixie always surprises me. The first thing I figured out about her is that she is afraid of a LOT of things. Peacocks, most people, blankets, flashlights, goats, raccoons, me. When she first came here she was even afraid of treats. You know, like apples, carrots, and those little sweet crunchy things Gary keeps in a jar on his golf cart? I can't imagine being afraid of food! She said it wasn't so much that she was afraid of the treat itself, just the idea of eating from someones hand. She had never done that. Twelve years old and no one had ever given her a treat! I guess that's the first thing about her that touched me.
I'm not afraid of very many things, but I have decided over the years that when something makes my heart race a little faster there are two things that I can do: run away or show my teeth and run right at the thing scaring me. When you are less than three feet tall, running away is usually the best option. Option two works well on Miss Kitty, small dogs, and peacocks, but not much else. I guess I forgot to explain that part to Dixie.
I have been encouraging her to face her fears. Sometimes just looking at something in a more direct way makes it less scary. One day I got her to walk right up to Miss Kitty and stare. This worked quite well as an opening lesson on facing your fears, since Kitty is afraid of everything bigger than a squirrel. Kitty turned and ran, leaving Dixie feeling triumphant and empowered. She has since made quite a bit of progress, but nothing prepared me for this morning's display of fearlessness.
Today it was raining and cold. Really cold. Mel put our blankets on the night before. I never know how she knows in advance that it's going to be cold enough for blankets, but she does. Mine is purple; Dixie's is pink. Neon pink. Makes it easy to keep track of her if she wanders away. But today she didn't walk away. After Mel turned us out into the pastures Dixie just pranced around. I assumed the blanket was itching her; she had complained about it all night. With me, eating trumps discomfort every time. I had just settled into a nice patch of greens when she finally blurted out the reason for her fidgeting.
"It's looking at us!"
"What is?" I ask between mouthfuls.
"That deer over there," she squeaked with fear.
"Dixie, we see deer everyday."
"This one's different. It's big and has a tree on its head."
I have got to admit that I looked up from my eating at that point. It was just too funny an image. I followed her gaze to the trees lining the far side of the big pasture. Sure enough, there stood a big buck staring at us.
"Dixie," I reassured her, "It's not a tree, it horns. You know like the goats have?"
"Like the goats?!"
Oops, I forgot that was a fear we haven't worked on yet. "Horns like goats, but we know that deer are friendlier than goats, right?"
"But it doesn't look friendly. What if it hurts us with those horns? What if it hurts Joey?"
"Um, Dixie, remember honey? Joey and Rose aren't here. "
She was practically running circles around me now. "I know they aren't here now, but they could come back anytime. That deer shouldn't be here if they do. Look, it's eating now. What if it eats all of our food?"
That got my attention, but I decided to focus on the root of her fear, not mine. "Two things... First, at the rate Joey is growing, I'll bet he's way bigger than that deer. You seem to forget that he's not that tiny little thing that needs protecting any more. Second, Joey has his mother to protect him and she's big enough to kick serious deer booty, horns or no horns."
"Okay I get that. But what should we do?"
I confess, sometimes I allow eating to cause me to lose focus of the situation at hand. I calmly returned to my grazing as I said these fateful words, "This is just one of those face-your-fears moments, Dixie. It's a deer, not something to be afraid of."
The next thing I know, a flash of neon pink sailed past me. I looked up. The deer looked up. I don't think either of us believed what we saw. Dixie was charging across the pasture, teeth bared, right at a creature that was three times her size... with horns! I took off running behind her. I don't know what went on in that buck's mind. He wasn't around long enough to ask. Maybe it was that we had him outnumbered; maybe it was the bizarre site of pink and purple blankets flapping across the pasture towards him. Either way, he turned tail, jumped the nearest fence and disappeared into the woods with barely a backwards glance.
"We did it. Did you see him run?" Dixie strutted.
I shuddered at what might have happened. My heart has pounding. "Oh! My! Gosh! Dixie! That was..." I was about to tell her she shouldn't have done it when I saw the sparkle in her eyes. She wasn't afraid. "...that was brave of you. Now Joey will be safe if he comes back today. And we'll have plenty of food. Thank you."
I'll tell her the benefits of running the other way some other day.
I'm not afraid of very many things, but I have decided over the years that when something makes my heart race a little faster there are two things that I can do: run away or show my teeth and run right at the thing scaring me. When you are less than three feet tall, running away is usually the best option. Option two works well on Miss Kitty, small dogs, and peacocks, but not much else. I guess I forgot to explain that part to Dixie.
I have been encouraging her to face her fears. Sometimes just looking at something in a more direct way makes it less scary. One day I got her to walk right up to Miss Kitty and stare. This worked quite well as an opening lesson on facing your fears, since Kitty is afraid of everything bigger than a squirrel. Kitty turned and ran, leaving Dixie feeling triumphant and empowered. She has since made quite a bit of progress, but nothing prepared me for this morning's display of fearlessness.
Today it was raining and cold. Really cold. Mel put our blankets on the night before. I never know how she knows in advance that it's going to be cold enough for blankets, but she does. Mine is purple; Dixie's is pink. Neon pink. Makes it easy to keep track of her if she wanders away. But today she didn't walk away. After Mel turned us out into the pastures Dixie just pranced around. I assumed the blanket was itching her; she had complained about it all night. With me, eating trumps discomfort every time. I had just settled into a nice patch of greens when she finally blurted out the reason for her fidgeting.
"It's looking at us!"
"What is?" I ask between mouthfuls.
"That deer over there," she squeaked with fear.
"Dixie, we see deer everyday."
"This one's different. It's big and has a tree on its head."
I have got to admit that I looked up from my eating at that point. It was just too funny an image. I followed her gaze to the trees lining the far side of the big pasture. Sure enough, there stood a big buck staring at us.
"Dixie," I reassured her, "It's not a tree, it horns. You know like the goats have?"
"Like the goats?!"
Oops, I forgot that was a fear we haven't worked on yet. "Horns like goats, but we know that deer are friendlier than goats, right?"
"But it doesn't look friendly. What if it hurts us with those horns? What if it hurts Joey?"
"Um, Dixie, remember honey? Joey and Rose aren't here. "
She was practically running circles around me now. "I know they aren't here now, but they could come back anytime. That deer shouldn't be here if they do. Look, it's eating now. What if it eats all of our food?"
That got my attention, but I decided to focus on the root of her fear, not mine. "Two things... First, at the rate Joey is growing, I'll bet he's way bigger than that deer. You seem to forget that he's not that tiny little thing that needs protecting any more. Second, Joey has his mother to protect him and she's big enough to kick serious deer booty, horns or no horns."
"Okay I get that. But what should we do?"
I confess, sometimes I allow eating to cause me to lose focus of the situation at hand. I calmly returned to my grazing as I said these fateful words, "This is just one of those face-your-fears moments, Dixie. It's a deer, not something to be afraid of."
The next thing I know, a flash of neon pink sailed past me. I looked up. The deer looked up. I don't think either of us believed what we saw. Dixie was charging across the pasture, teeth bared, right at a creature that was three times her size... with horns! I took off running behind her. I don't know what went on in that buck's mind. He wasn't around long enough to ask. Maybe it was that we had him outnumbered; maybe it was the bizarre site of pink and purple blankets flapping across the pasture towards him. Either way, he turned tail, jumped the nearest fence and disappeared into the woods with barely a backwards glance.
"We did it. Did you see him run?" Dixie strutted.
I shuddered at what might have happened. My heart has pounding. "Oh! My! Gosh! Dixie! That was..." I was about to tell her she shouldn't have done it when I saw the sparkle in her eyes. She wasn't afraid. "...that was brave of you. Now Joey will be safe if he comes back today. And we'll have plenty of food. Thank you."
I'll tell her the benefits of running the other way some other day.
Matching Children
Dixie and I both like kids, but for very different reasons. Dixie likes them because they don’t intimidate her the way bigger people do. She also says she likes the sound of their voices. We’ll get back to our barn after being out with kids and she’ll start talking about what this one said or what that one looked like. Honestly, unless they hang a carrot from their teeth, I’m not likely to notice what anyone looks like, and even then, I’d probably only remember the carrot. But then there were the twins.
Neither Dixie nor I had ever seen matching children before. And when I say matching, I mean matching. Right down to the shoelaces in their sneakers. They were orange, I think, that first day, with matching shorts and hair bows. I can only assume that’s when Dixie decided she wanted to start wearing bows in her hair. Of course her thick wayward mop is no match for the blonde curls the twins sported. And their voices! They laughed and sang and chattered in musical voices, saying things like “Omgosh,” which most certainly has a more delicate meaning than when I blurt “Oh! My! Gosh!”
So I think you get the picture. We were enchanted. Both of us. And there was no food involved. That first encounter was highly unusual. We’re used to children who may not have actually seen a horse before, but if we fail to live up to their expectations they usually don’t let on. They simply walk away to find some activity more to their liking like chasing the peacocks, which I’d like to add at this point I secretly find amusing. I’ve been known to chase them myself when nobody is looking. Having said that, let me emphatically state that it’s against the resort rules. Don’t do it.
Anyway, our little curly blonde bookends were not shy about expressing their feelings, and apparently their initial level of enchantment was somewhat less than ours.
“Omgosh! We love horses,” they sang together as they reach into the bucketful of children’s brushes Mel offered them. I should have guessed this was not going to go too well when the one on the left looked disdainfully at her scruffy red horse brush as if worms might begin crawling out of it at any moment. The one on the right snatched a purple brush and quickly attacked Dixie’s wild mane. The red brush, after careful inspection, was apparently accepted and I soon felt its soothing caresses along my itchy back. But then it stopped. Mid-stroke. Dainty orange-laced sneakers stepped away.
“We love horses, but we’ve never actually been this close to them,” says the wielder of the red brush. “They, um, sort of smell.”
The purple brush stopped. “Maybe we only thought we loved horses,” she says.
Dixie and I exchanged a look. I could see the heartbreak in her eyes. No child has ever told us we smelled. Not once. Here we were in the presence of these two delightful children who might not REALLY love horses, particularly us, after all. Had we let down the entire equine race over a little hygiene? Dixie was getting fidgety. Her eyes darted around looking for an escape. She tugged left, then right, I guess hoping Mel would turn loose of the lead rope and let her run. She was near tears I think when it happened.
Let me state here for the record that I have been doing this entertaining the kids gig for a little longer than Dixie and I came to the realization early that the whole thing goes a little smoother if you tend to your, um, personal functions BEFORE the children arrive. Somewhere other than where the children are. ANYWHERE other than where the children are.
I don’t know if Dixie’s hurt feelings had something to do with it. Maybe she just lost control. Literally. She lost it. Luckily the poo missed the orange shoelaces. Most of it landed squarely between Dixie’s own back feet. In her haste to extricate herself from a bad situation suddenly turned worse, she stepped squarely in the pile, poo sticking all over both back hooves. Oh! My! Gosh!
“Good luck cleaning that mess off of her feet!” one giggly girl told Mel as she tactfully maneuvered both of us away from the pile. I hid my face in the grass. Dixie squirmed. There would be other children, other days for brushing, other chances to be hugged and patted, but I saw no way out of this smelly mess with the blondes.
Before I could swallow the lump forming in my throat, orange shoelaces appeared next to my nose. Stiff bristles pushed the forelock away from my eyes. “I don’t care if you do smell,” said the musical voice. “I think I could still love you. But omgosh, we have GOT to do something about this hair!”
Neither Dixie nor I had ever seen matching children before. And when I say matching, I mean matching. Right down to the shoelaces in their sneakers. They were orange, I think, that first day, with matching shorts and hair bows. I can only assume that’s when Dixie decided she wanted to start wearing bows in her hair. Of course her thick wayward mop is no match for the blonde curls the twins sported. And their voices! They laughed and sang and chattered in musical voices, saying things like “Omgosh,” which most certainly has a more delicate meaning than when I blurt “Oh! My! Gosh!”
So I think you get the picture. We were enchanted. Both of us. And there was no food involved. That first encounter was highly unusual. We’re used to children who may not have actually seen a horse before, but if we fail to live up to their expectations they usually don’t let on. They simply walk away to find some activity more to their liking like chasing the peacocks, which I’d like to add at this point I secretly find amusing. I’ve been known to chase them myself when nobody is looking. Having said that, let me emphatically state that it’s against the resort rules. Don’t do it.
Anyway, our little curly blonde bookends were not shy about expressing their feelings, and apparently their initial level of enchantment was somewhat less than ours.
“Omgosh! We love horses,” they sang together as they reach into the bucketful of children’s brushes Mel offered them. I should have guessed this was not going to go too well when the one on the left looked disdainfully at her scruffy red horse brush as if worms might begin crawling out of it at any moment. The one on the right snatched a purple brush and quickly attacked Dixie’s wild mane. The red brush, after careful inspection, was apparently accepted and I soon felt its soothing caresses along my itchy back. But then it stopped. Mid-stroke. Dainty orange-laced sneakers stepped away.
“We love horses, but we’ve never actually been this close to them,” says the wielder of the red brush. “They, um, sort of smell.”
The purple brush stopped. “Maybe we only thought we loved horses,” she says.
Dixie and I exchanged a look. I could see the heartbreak in her eyes. No child has ever told us we smelled. Not once. Here we were in the presence of these two delightful children who might not REALLY love horses, particularly us, after all. Had we let down the entire equine race over a little hygiene? Dixie was getting fidgety. Her eyes darted around looking for an escape. She tugged left, then right, I guess hoping Mel would turn loose of the lead rope and let her run. She was near tears I think when it happened.
Let me state here for the record that I have been doing this entertaining the kids gig for a little longer than Dixie and I came to the realization early that the whole thing goes a little smoother if you tend to your, um, personal functions BEFORE the children arrive. Somewhere other than where the children are. ANYWHERE other than where the children are.
I don’t know if Dixie’s hurt feelings had something to do with it. Maybe she just lost control. Literally. She lost it. Luckily the poo missed the orange shoelaces. Most of it landed squarely between Dixie’s own back feet. In her haste to extricate herself from a bad situation suddenly turned worse, she stepped squarely in the pile, poo sticking all over both back hooves. Oh! My! Gosh!
“Good luck cleaning that mess off of her feet!” one giggly girl told Mel as she tactfully maneuvered both of us away from the pile. I hid my face in the grass. Dixie squirmed. There would be other children, other days for brushing, other chances to be hugged and patted, but I saw no way out of this smelly mess with the blondes.
Before I could swallow the lump forming in my throat, orange shoelaces appeared next to my nose. Stiff bristles pushed the forelock away from my eyes. “I don’t care if you do smell,” said the musical voice. “I think I could still love you. But omgosh, we have GOT to do something about this hair!”
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