That is, until pft let me know late yesterday afternoon that Spike had gotten into a drawstring bag left over from our camping trip* last weekend that contained my knitting (not one, but three 450 yrds balls of fine, expensive yarn) despite the bag being drawn tightly closed.
(* write up to follow)
Thus ensued a stressful evening, running late into the night, detangling yarn. This is about the sixth time this has happened and we are well into double digits of hours spent at this task. Managed to get the worst of the three balls untangled and put the other two "piles" into a zipped bag he can't get into.
And so that I couldn't see them.
At least for a few hours.
I'm not sure what the appeal is, but Spike worked quite hard to get this last batch of yarn out. I used to think it was the ziploc bags the yarn lived in that was the appeal but these weren't in a ziploc. Wondering if it it's the smell...?
So because of the late night and general crunchiness, instead of riding this morning, I spent an hour or so putting boots on and taking them off. On the front, Small Thing has strange wide, round feet that are very upright with not terribly well-defined heel bulbs, while on the back his feet are heart-shaped - wide in the back, pointy in the front, so it was a judgement call as to what would fit best.
|First fitting: Toe wire needs loosening so the toe strap isn't pulled so short,|
and the small captivator around his heel is either just going to work,
or just not going to work. Time will tell.
I was fiddling with the last foot – the right rear – and trying to maneuver him so his foot was in the shade to take a photo when he kicked out at me.
Now I assume he was irritated, trying to eat his breakfast and I kept messing with him. And if he'd intended to connect, then he would have. Still, it was a very active kick in my direction and immediately resulted in me screaming like a banshee at him and firmly enforcing the "Three Second Rule" (although in this case, it was more like a "Nanosecond Rule").
I am still hoarse.
Small Thing shot out of the shelter into the paddock at high speed, dislodging that RR boot as he went and then proceeded to run around anxiously avoiding me (advancing on him in a threatening manner). The lost RR boot was still fastened around his ankle and it flapped enthusiastically the entire time without him having a the slightest interest in it. So at least that's good.
Finally got him back in the shelter and got the boot off. A good test of what isn't going to work - think I needed to snug up the pastern strap slightly, but more importantly, need to whack off some of that pointy toe to get the foot to seat better in the boot. No surprises there.
(Renegades are more forgiving of trim length than Gloves... but still not that forgiving.)
So both my favorite small things are in disgrace, and unfortunately, the thing that draws me to them is precisely the thing that causes most trouble - independent and active personalities.