Friday, March 13, 2015

Shetlandish Escape Artists

My Shetlands were a mighty pint-sized force to be reckoned with. Talented escape artists. I got so desperate that I'd hobble their front legs as they were grazing, (a long lead was useless), but they'd nimbly hop over to the neighbor's lush lawn. So I hobbled their back legs too. They GALLOPED in double spancels, then I cross-tied the hobbles and the little frickers stag-leaped their way down the road, looking like little Lippizanners in Airs Above the Ground. I was so desperate, I considered hog-tying them. Don't mention electric fences. Already been there, done that. They simply dove right through electric fences. Not like Ralf the Cow who got her udder hung up on the wire. My aunt called them the Little Shits. My vet eventually bought them, they were a matched pair, and I had to laugh, as he spent the next decade or so chasing them all over Bear Valley and Olema.

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