Checking In to the Horse Hotel

It’s been freezing cold here in northern Colorado­—especially so over this past weekend. And unfortunately our Golden Girls were not doing well. They’d been hunkered down in the very back of the shelter, not even venturing out for water, which isn’t a good thing.

So what would two enterprising females do?

Ours decided to check themselves in to a swanky hotel complete with room service, lots of sunny areas in which to hang out, and daily maid service.

The Golden Girls have been living it up with lots of TLC, all the hay they can eat, fresh water only a few steps from the shelter, and their daily ration of grain from us.

And you may notice that Miss P. has a spiffy new red coat—one that is much heavier than her old blue one.

It was a frantic day on Saturday. None of us wants our animals to suffer. They’re like our children. When we got word that the girls weren’t doing well, we had to switch into high gear. But seeing them grooving in the sun, with shelter and no younger, stronger horses to push them out of the hay line, has made all the last-minute running around worth it.

When the temperatures warm up, the Golden Girls will head back to the pasture. But for now, they’ve got room service on speed dial.

The Enforcer

Guardian angels come in a multitude of shapes and sizes. Lately, for the Herd of Oldsters, their guardian angel looks a lot like my husband.

Dark sunglasses, lead rope at the ready and a “don’t-mess-with-me-attitude.” He reminds me a little of Kevin Costner in The Body Guard.

His job has been to see to it that our little band of old horses gets their fair share of hay.

We’ve been giving flakes of the “good stuff,” better known as alfalfa mix, to our oldsters every time we go out to feed.

Not a one of them fared the winter in the best of shape, so they need the extra nutrition.

Somehow, the minute those delicious flakes hit the ground, other horses in the larger herd know it. And they make their way toward the Oldsters.

That’s where the guardian angel, or as I call him, “the enforcer,” comes in. He lets the interlopers know that they aren’t welcome here.

He’ll circle the rope in the air to encourage the others to head out. And if that doesn’t work he swings a little stronger and gives them the look, as he makes it absolutely clear that they are NOT going to win this one. To date, he’s been the victor.

From the Herd of Oldsters, I swear I can hear a huge sigh of relief as they continue to munch on the delicious strands of hay.

They simply don’t have the mojo anymore to fight for their food.

The rope-swinging and other machinations don’t affect them at all. It’s as if they know their bodyguard is at work for them.

How wonderful that must be.

My own personal guardian angel may not be wearing dark sunglasses and swinging a rope to protect me.

Then again ….