This is Girl at the Saddle Club horse show this weekend. She is riding a new pony this year named Hollywood Treasure. His barn name is just Treasure, but there are many (myself included) that just refer to him as Trouble.
Because he is.
He is just a young guy, only 5 years old, and just learning.... everything. Everything, including manners. He likes to nip or bite and his favourite trick is to step on your toes. You have to watch every end of him. Girl takes it in stride, gives him a wee pop on the nose if he bites and continues on about his care as if nothing ever happened.
Me, I wallow in my resentment if he has forgotten his etiquette. I wonder, often out loud in a very un-cowboy way, "why am I sponging your nether regions when you've just tried to take a chunk of my butt?" and "why am I rubbing sunscreen on the bald patch by your tail when you've just stomped your hoof by my toes?"
Sometimes I also wonder things like "why am I picking up Trouble's poop while Girl goes to the refreshment booth?"
Girl is the elegant rider, the competitive gamer, the glamorous horsewoman, and I, I am the dust covered, sun burnt, poop-spotted, lowly groom -- who cheers out loud and walks proud when Girl and Treasure ride out of the ring.