Weather watch and a naughty old man
Can I please have a pat on the back?
I have FINALLY remembered to post Weather Watch Wednesday on…
wait for it…
a WEDNESDAY.
I know.
*curtsies*
Thankyou, thank you all.
.
It’s perfect weather here today – just 27 degrees Celsius (80 F) in my kitchen.
Looking out the (smudged)window to my part of the world, I see green grass.
I see ruffling leaves dancing in a strong breeze.
I see low grey clouds buffeting each other trying to cover up the small patches of blue.
I see the contented grazing of horses and cows, their bellies full and tails happily flicking at flies. It’s the exact picture every person who lives with grazing animals EVER wants to see.
*sigh*
Granite Glen Forecast :
Temps: 18-28 C (64-82F)
Frost risk: NIL
(never fails to tickle me that this measure even makes it to our Summer/Autumn forecasts!)
Chance of rain: 90% of up to 100mm for this weekend
Actually a CYCLONE is allegedly headed this way.
~
So anyway, the second part of this post IS related to the first.
Even if it doesn’t immediately seem that way.
Please meet Cattleman.
Cattleman is a horse.
But he is not just any horse.
He is a human in horse’s clothing. (Or hide. Whatever.)
Cattleman is my father’s steed and is an ex-campdraft horse.
He is not young – probably about 20 years old – and man, is he crafty.
He is an equine Walter Matthau. Or Jack Palance’s character in City Slickers (Curly?)
Here he is, having let all the horses into the pool yard.
Yes, the horse can open gates.
These photos were taken after he had already opened THREE other gates (with varying catches) to completely mix up every horse we have here at the Granite Glen house.
And THAT was within the two hours he had been home, after being shifted in from a ‘spelling’ paddock which only has barbed wire gates (which I can barely manage and which he has yet to work out). And no, spelling doesn’t mean where horses learn their ABC’s.
And THAT was within the two hours he had been home, after being shifted in from a ‘spelling’ paddock which only has barbed wire gates (which I can barely manage and which he has yet to work out). And no, spelling doesn’t mean where horses learn their ABC’s.
It’s where they get rested.
Or banished (when they are more trouble than help).
Mind you, this horse is so smart he can probably do algebra.
Can you notice that he is watching me while pretending to graze?
Want to know what he’s thinking?
His thought bubbles should read like this:
“Right, we’ve been caught.
And she’s about to chase us out from this luscious forbidden area.
How can I trick her into letting me stay?”
(And he totally had about three strategies planned out).
.
And when I eventually got them all out into the paddock, he’s thinking:
“Okay I shall now chase everyone away from the forbidden area,
to make it look like it was NOT my idea to be here in the first place.”
“See? Butter WOULD NOT melt in my mouth.
Is my halo in place?”
.
If he wasn’t so naughty he’d be quite funny and cute.
But Cattleman doesn’t do cute.
And he doesn’t do ‘cuddly’ either.
Oh sure, he’ll let you feed him and even rug him, but the moment you are done he has moved JUST beyond reach. Watching you. If he doesn’t feel like being bridled and saddled, it can take you half an hour to outsmart him.
.
He’s really the horse version of a cat.
He’s really the horse version of a cat.
Feed me.
Admire me.
Pat me if you must.
Even though he hasn’t competed in a campdraft (basic description here for newcomers) for many years, he is agile and can hunt down a beast (steer) like an equine predator. And if his rider isn’t ready for the sharp turn required to send the beast where Cattleman decides it needs to go… then HELLO ground! And you could find yourself looking up from the dirt, at a chestnut horse positively LAUGHING at you.
Not that I would know what that feels like. Much.
Mr Incredible would love to get Cattleman out of the Spelling Paddock (where he has once again been banished) to take him in a draft. The campdraft season, you see, is underway. Or it would be, if the rains would stop.
It’s a dilemma for my hubby – welcome more rain and have yet another local campdraft cancelled (two have already been called off)? Or wish it away and watch another drought devour the gorgeous green from our hills?
Catch 22.
Whether the forecast comes to fruition for this weekend’s local draft or not, all I know is that Cattleman the Cunning will be ready. As long as we can catch him.
And as long as he doesn’t work out the gates.
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