So while you are reading this, I am actually learning a lot about law at Court! Since we don't know the moral of that story yet, here's one that I can tell you exactly what the moral is and in case you are already bored and ready to move along, the moral is deep and spiritual and also involves using your own washing machine.
In case you are still here, let me tell you about a glamorous part of the horse business. The part where your employees go back to school or Costa Rica and you are stuck with washing all the horse blankets. Something that involves a trip to this place, and a casino sized bucket of quarters.
Glamorous Highway 1! Sunny beach town of Santa Cruz! A hot day! What a better thing to do than to take the giant load of horse laundry to the laundromat. Stuff you wouldn't ever put in your washer at home, and stuff that even the homeless guys washing sleeping bags in the laundromat give you the stink eye for bringing in. It's like horse jammies. Horses are dirty. Imagine their jammies.
Not that I didn't want to spend the day with her. But I went out for a walk.
Here's the mural with the map of my town on the pizza place. Can you see my house?
And a closeup of the exact spot for which I am going to court over for walking my dogs. A coincidence? I think not.
Other fun choices available in this part of town.
Stuff for Kings.
This would have been an ok idea.
Or this.
But instead, I went here. The super expensive organic grocery store. Because who doesn't need $5 peanut butter?
So when I was in there, a strung out guy came running in and threw a bottle of vitamins back at the counter and said, "It was Open! It was Open!" and went running back and grabbed a new bottle and ran out before anyone could say anything. My checker was the girl with stunning forearm tattoos of winged gothic lettering with dates on them and a black bob. Emo girl. Probably weeps later on about her fate in life checking out super expensive groceries for ladies like me.
We just looked at eachother. The bottle of organic vitamins said MALE ENHANCEMENT. He seemed pretty enhanced already. I guess always room for further enhancement.
These guys were sitting out back behind the bike store next door. They don't bark. They would be nice friends for Gustavo but not Otterpop. Otterpop would contaminate them with her unpleasant factor.
So back to the law. There are a bunch of tiny Mexican ladies in the laundromat waiting for the big washers. And mine has a ticking time bomb picture on it making a frantic beeping and has all the horse jammies prisoner and isn't done. I come back from my scenic walk to this fiasco and it is happening in Spanish. It was $8 in quarters to get it this far. I have other important things to do on this day off. I have been asked to be a dog trial chair and I tell them how busy I am doing things like running a business and here I am with all the tiny ladies yammering at me and in my best Spanish am trying to explain ticking time bomb of evil washer and voodoo curse against me and I DID hit the VERDE button and finally just yank 100lbs of sopping wet unspun horse jammies and shove the dripping mess of them in the back of my car.
Um, does this have anything to do with teaching Gustavo his straight weave poles? Going to court? Being a better dog trainer? Of course. The law of Karma says, according to Wikipedia, our source for all cliffnoted explanations of complicated things, "Through the law of karma, the effects of all deeds actively create past, present, and future experiences, thus making one responsible for one's own life, and the pain and joy it brings to him/her and others."
So yesterday, all dour and feel sorry for like, and boo hoo no one will ever invite me to beat Michael Phelps and his fat bulldog when dog agility gets added to the Olympics and I'll just have to watch Susan Garrett battle it out with him and who cares about the floating polar bears and gathering Democrats in Denver when you are having a sad dog show day.
What is the reward for this kind of thinking?
How about 100lbs of sopping wet horse jammies currently clogging up my driveway and the tiny ladies wagging tiny, angry little fingers at you all the way out the laudromat door, trailing a wet, sloppy trail behind me.
1 comment:
Oh this reminds me so much of my days of yesteryear, those days of professional horse training and the smell of dirty blankets that never quite leaves your car and entering the establishment of laundry in a head-down-I'm-not-really-a-criminal-just-washing-some-FILTHY-shitty-piss-soaked-blankets-here-so-don't-mind-me kind of way. And then leaving with 300 lbs of blankets when you only went in with 50 lbs., but then you're considerably lighter in the quarters dept. I'm sure you can explain all of the math involved there Captain (which is why I merely trained horses and didn't go to vet school).
The blankets look oh so pretty hung on their special brass racks for about an hour until the barn is swept/blown and everything is coated in dust again! Most importantly, the horses get clean sheets for 5 seconds 'til they roll in the mud and that makes everyone happy, right?
Please let us know when you have your *real* legal reckoning-- am waiting to hear about your courtroom faceoff with the bush-hiding, gunslinging rangers!
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