I did my 2nd of three required training sessions (after which I’m a volunteer who gets to sign up and help when and as often as I like 
, at the draft horse rescue yesterday and I think I may have died there on the farm and am now like one of those ghosts wandering through their daily routine, oblivious to their demise.
I’d like to say it was the pure joy of being with horses that killed me (and to be sure I could die of such a feeling; they make me so happy), but it was more likely the hard work in 95°F.
There were times when I honestly thought, “I may actually be sick right at this horse’s feet.” Or, “No, I’m going to pass out and get stomped.”
My first training session, albeit longer (four hours instead of the afternoon’s three), was hella busy and extremely hard work as well, but it was the heat yesterday, that and, because of the heat, the walking, seeming acres, through foot-tall grass in mucking boots, wrangling groups or walking individuals (horses, not people) over to the hoses to be cooled off. Why are they always on the other end of the field?
In the end, as with the first session, I came out of it beat to hell, every cell in my body exhausted and complaining and my soul absolutely soaring with joy. -- I’ve never been so tired and so happy in equal measures.
My husband says I come out of the barn glowing.
Best therapy ever.
, at the draft horse rescue yesterday and I think I may have died there on the farm and am now like one of those ghosts wandering through their daily routine, oblivious to their demise. I’d like to say it was the pure joy of being with horses that killed me (and to be sure I could die of such a feeling; they make me so happy), but it was more likely the hard work in 95°F.
There were times when I honestly thought, “I may actually be sick right at this horse’s feet.” Or, “No, I’m going to pass out and get stomped.”
My first training session, albeit longer (four hours instead of the afternoon’s three), was hella busy and extremely hard work as well, but it was the heat yesterday, that and, because of the heat, the walking, seeming acres, through foot-tall grass in mucking boots, wrangling groups or walking individuals (horses, not people) over to the hoses to be cooled off. Why are they always on the other end of the field?
In the end, as with the first session, I came out of it beat to hell, every cell in my body exhausted and complaining and my soul absolutely soaring with joy.
-- I’ve never been so tired and so happy in equal measures. My husband says I come out of the barn glowing.
Best therapy ever.
