After the wonderful day, the evening was less than great. Kip was a hormonal basket case, totally convinced that he was still a stallion and all the mares were slavering slut-monkeys worshipping his rampant maleness. Ok, so he was acting like a regular guy – still, he was a pain in the ass. All the other horses were feeling the spring in the air, as well: we had loose horses, geldings mounting mares in pasture, horses screaming everywhere. I slipped on the concrete ramp while I was mucking Kip’s stall and fell, hard. I lost my glasses, and someone had to help me find them (under a pile of spilled shavings and horseshit) because I am blind without them. I walked past Kip with his evening feed and he raised a hind hoof at me as though he was going to kick, so I smacked him hard. A small child walking three feet behind me ran and told his mother that Kipper tried to kick him. Mother of god…not a great day.
Then, when I got home, to top it all off, I find a very official letter from the Home Office saying that, as part of the new immigration procedures, I would have to undergo naturalization training and take a test in order to stay in the country (translators provided if necessary), to the tune of GBP 1,400.00. I started to cry, which horrified Phil, as the freaking idiot had sent it as an April Fool’s joke. Phil, I will kill you later.
I need to go and have some vodka now. And read a happy book. Something about fluffy kittens and squirrels living in the forest together, cute animals KILLING each other in inventive ways a la Happy Tree Friends. :) Yeah, that’s the ticket.