Lucky had his unbirthday celebration a couple days late. The weather has been truly attrocious to the point some roads, where there’s no buffer zone between the fields and the shoulder, are more of an article of faith than a visible reality. I was able to get down on Sunday, and let Lucky celebrate turning eight according to the Jockey Club with peppermints and a long grooming. One thing about limited time and being unable to ride, it forces me to make the most of grooming. A deep curry, the stiff brush, the soft brush, the feet. I fuss with his head on purpose to remind him that I am allowed to do that (though I’m not sure he was thrilled with my braiding his forelock, the only part of his mane long enough to braid.) I pick the straw out of his tail, I walk him as much as I can, and we discuss manners when asking for treats. And then I try and get home without winding up in a ditch waiting for AAA. The snow was pretty, but it can stop now.
A brief note (but no photos, as I have no digital camera) on a new addition to the cast: as of yesterday, Puff has a dog of his own. Her name is Tucker and (as readers of Rita Mae and “Sneakie Pie” Brown’s cat mysteries have by now surmised) she is a Pembroke Welsh Corgi. She is a tricolor, mostly black, and came from the Cass County Animal Shelter. I don’t know if she was a stray or surrender, but she has no microchip or collar and wherever she was, she was eating well. She weighs .7 pounds more than Puff, despite being about one-third as tall. As she is (fortunately) not pregnant and (doubly fortunately) heartworm-free, our first priority per the vet is to get that weight down into the twenties.