After a rough week at the Arvo Job, some saddle time was just what the doctor ordered, although when I got up at 4.30 this morning, I had a hard time convincing myself that a session of
hippotherapy would be more beneficial than sleeping in. Thank goodness I went. Alas, our usual, lovely Daylesford ride was unavailable this month (the owner is in hospital) so my sister Cindy and I headed off towards the Whittlesea-Wallan region to try out a new (for us) place that other riders have recommended. Funnily enough, when we got there we saw familiar faces, namely other Daylesfordian refugees also looking further afield for a dose of horse riding. After a shaky start, once we got used to the more chaotic nature of this new place, it turned out to be great fun. The horses were energetic and full of character, and we experienced riders split off from the main group and did some serious, pounding, landscape-as-a-passing-blur galloping as well lots of companionable chatting. We had a couple of High County Mountain Men old blokes as guides, and when they questioned my sister and me about the places we usually go riding, we found ourselves entangled in High Country Mountain Men politics that went back generations, the complexities of which we didn’t fully grasp, but a lot of it seemed to have to do with the filming of
The Man from Snowy River. Believe you me, HCMM take the intrigues involved in the making of that film very seriously. Conversely, Daylesford and the other ‘lowland’ places we go riding didn’t interest them at all.
Because it was only a 3-4 hour ride, I got home this afternoon with enough time and sunshine left to head out into the backyard and grab some Xmas swing and cat and chicken therapy. During this chill out session, a great mystery was solved. Last week, I became aware of a perimeter breach when my cats went into intruder mode, lined up and all stared at the same spot. The chook then positioned herself behind this feline phalanx, looked over their crouched forms and also intently eyed the bushes (was she, I wondered, their backup chicken?), but I couldn’t see anything.
Today, following their communal gaze, I zoomed in with my camera. Keep looking, you'll see a rather mournful figure eventually, or click the photo to enlarge it. Poor thing, but, I’ll leave them all to sort it out. Still, watching the chicken using the cats as her heavies, her moving in with us suddenly makes strategic sense. Perhaps I should call her Commando Chook.
All in all, my little menagerie made me laugh, which really is the very best kind of medicine.
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