Archive for December, 2010

My New Year’s Resolution

The first of the year
A time to rejig.
Make a promise or two,
But nothing too big.

I’ll eat all my carrots
And clean up my hay,
And give up all spooking
(Perhaps for a day.)

When wearing my blankets
I won’t roll in manure,
(Unless it’s the dry stuff,
But who knows for sure?)

I’ll walk on to the trailer
Just like a good boy.
My big reward?
The scribe’s look of joy.

I’ll get all my transitions
And do as I’m told.
I won’t be a chicken,
I’ll try to be bold.

Speaking of chickens,
Ignore them I’ll try,
Though those cackling hens
Always make me feel shy.

Else really, I’m perfect;
You’ve got to agree.
If I change any more
Well, I just won’t be me!

* *

During my nine-and-a-half-year sojourn on this planet I have noticed that the peeps (my slang for “people”) tend to get all bent of out shape around January 1 about New Year’s resolutions. Take the scribe, for instance — “I’m gonna eat better; exercise more; write more; have more fun, …” etc., etc. By my observation she really only needs to do two things … live more in the moment and chill. Really, everything else will simply take care of itself.

Honestly, the peeps have got it all wrong — running around like chickens with their heads cut off (there’s that chicken reference again — no offense to the chickens) trying to get everything right and failing miserably. Perfection is highly over-rated. Really they just need to “be.”

Go with the flow, folks. Live in the moment. Let tomorrow take care of itself. The bottom line is … your horse wants you in the here and now!

It’s been quite a journey teaching the scribe to “stay” with me. Her mind sometimes wanders and the body language with it, so it’s little wonder I have to interject with the odd spook every once in a while just to get her attention back to where it needs to be … in the moment … with me!

Therefore, in spite of my previous poetic review of all the things I “could” do as we head into 2011, my real goal is to keep the scribe in the moment using tried and true methods and, of course, to eat my carrots.

Happy New Year!

Shakespeare “The Equine”


Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2010

A Pony’s Christmas Wish

If I had one Christmas wish
To share with all the world,
It’s that ol’ Santa’d send my way
A horse-crazy little girl.

A Pony's Christmas Wish

One who’d love and spoil me
With carrots by the score.
A little girl whose eyes light up
As I walk through the door.

She’d brush me oh so tenderly
And scratch behind my ears.
Together we would grow in love
And overcome our fears.

Upon my back she’d lightly sit
Reins quietly she would hold,
To lead me in our pas de deux;
We’d dance til we grew old.

And in the fields we’d run and play
Our manes the wind would blow.
And when our frolic was complete
To a nice warm barn we’d go.

Then once again she’d curry me
Feed treats and lots of hay.
And tell me that I’m such a special,
Handsome, dapper bay.

I’d nod, then, in agreement,
Convinced she must be right.
And nuzzle her so gently
As we bid a fond good night.

Yes, that’s my wish for Christmas,
A little girl my own to call.
I’m not sure where I’d keep her —
Maybe in my stall.

* *

I received my Christmas wish. I received her March 17, 2006. She’s a keeper. Even though she’s an adult, the horse-crazy little girl in her recognized the little girl-crazy horse in me and that was it. The dream came true.

And as so often happens, I got even more than I could have dreamed.

She is my human “mom.” She nurtures, cares for and loves me in ways that make me feel like I am the luckiest horse in the world. And we have a lot of fun together.

I’m stabled near her home so she can easily visit me every day. Five days a week we practice our dressage and then I get two days off to muse. On these days she’ll hang out with and fuss over me for a little while, and this just deepens our bond.

She spoils me with carrots and apples and other tasty treats; grooms me til my coat is shiny and conditions my tail once a week. She’s constantly telling me how handsome I am, and does little things that make me smile. For instance, I love when she wipes my post-workout foamy mouth with a nice soft towel. That always gets my “Shakespeare grin of approval.”

My favourite part of our routine is a lavender aromatherapy facial … a soothing touch of heaven before she releases me to the rest of my day. It’s a little thing she started the day she brought me home so I would relax and always associate her with something lovely. And I do.

But I don’t really need that to know she’s lovely … and that she’s mine. I knew the moment I saw her she was the girl for me. And I knew she needed me. Besides, she’s a writer and my name, which was registered before we met and thus mine before we found each other, is Shakespeare. You could say the cosmic hay bales all fell into place in Poet’s Paddock — I had my scribe; she had her muse. Some things are just meant to be.

And as for keeping her in my stall? Of course, that makes about as much sense as keeping a pony in your urban backyard. But I can dream, can’t I?

May all your dreams come true this holiday season …

Catch you again in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”


Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2010

Pretty Snowflakes

Pretty snowflakes falling free,
Big and fluffy as can be,
White and icy crystals all,
Don’t you know it’s still the Fall?
Pretty snowflakes in the sky,
Soon in a blanket you will lie
Upon my paddock green no more
Will I find grass I can adore.
Pretty snowflakes everywhere
Floating like you have no care.
In my eyes and up my nose
And places you would not suppose.
Pretty snowflakes how we play
Though you have turned the skies to grey.
I buck and squeal; you silent chase.
Together winter we embrace.
Pretty snowflakes on the ground,
Everywhere I look you’re found.
Surely you know when to quit.
It’s almost time for mom’s visit.
Pretty snowflakes that’s enough.
I’ve had it with all this white stuff.
I want to see my mom today
We’ve had our fun, now go away.

* * *

Who doesn’t love the first snowfall?

The gentle snowflakes wafting on a winter wind and cascading quietly to engage with an anxiously awaiting Earth are such a novelty. And to run; to chase; to play with Sam, my paddock buddy, across the fluffy mounds of white stuff … boy, I feel like a foal again. Everything is such a delight!

The snow is also the first invitation to hibernate; to chill. It’s when mom pulls out my warm winter blankies and I can be toasty and warm in my cool stall at night, and protected against the inclement conditions outside during the day. Beautiful piles of plentiful hay are mine for the eating and winter tales are bandied about the barn at night as the herd and I all drift off to sleep. Yes, it is a cosy, romantic, time — that first snowfall.

Then soon harsh reality sets in as I and the rest of the herd realize that the first snowfall leads to a second and a third and … well, it’s not romantic anymore, is it? I get tired of wearing blankets; of slipping on icy spots. Suddenly I notice when my ears are cold, or the water trough is frozen over, or there are snowballs wedged in my shoes … all things I ignore with the novelty of the first snowfall.

And then I am downright annoyed if the white fluffy stuff gets in the way of my mother’s daily ministrations, which it does from time to time. This is just not done!

So, pretty snowflakes are lovely for a while, and then I wish they’d just go away.

Only three and a half months until Spring …

See you anon,

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2010

A Little Problem

In corner stall down yonder
There dwells a distant friend.
I know him just in passing
As he lives at the far end.
He’s got a little “problem.”
And I don’t like to pry, but
Were I in his steel shoes
I know I’d want to cry.
It seems he is allergic
To any kind of treat.
His taste buds must be dreary
With nothing fun to eat.
He can’t have any carrots;
He can’t eat any hay;
Stud muffins are a no-no.
Why him? I often pray.
Somehow he is so stoic
About this nasty turn.
If I were him I’d have a fit,
My insides how they’d churn!
I’d offer him my sympathies
But he’s aloof as he can be.
I guess he’s found a way to cope
Which means there’s more for me!

* * *

It’s true, believe it or not. There is a horse in the barn that’s allergic to every treat I love!!! I don’t know how he manages it. When the treat wrappers are rustling and people are hovered around the carrot bag I am almost crazy with anticipation. From where my stall is located I can see my entourage bustling in and out of the tack room fetching stud muffins, extruded apple chunks and best of all, on Muffin Mondays, Timmies cranberry blueberry bran muffins. And the carrot bag is barely 12 feet away from me!

No, if I were Jack Jack I’d have a BIG problem. In sympathy I always eat his share. I’m sure he appreciates it …

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2010