“I’m just going to work on your stalls now,” I tell the two horses. “Then I’ll take you out to the pasture to do whatever it is you do out there.”
My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I check to see who’s texting.
Noah:Have you cleaned their stalls yet?
Me:No. I’m about to do it. But I did survive putting their halters on. They’re eating breakfast now.
Noah:Congratulations. Glad to see you’re still alive, Princess.
Me:Ha, ha. You’re funny.
Noah:Have fun cleaning their stalls.
Ass.
“Okay, Kate,” I say to myself. “You’ve got this.” I’ve already done the hard part—with the halters.
And I’ve lived to tell the tale.
I mentally high-five myself. I wanted an adventure. What could be more adventurous than cleaning a stable?
At least it’s safer than skydiving off the Eiffel Tower.
Which, by the way, isn’t on my bucket list.
I gather up the shovel, pitchfork, and broom, and put them in the wheelbarrow. Charlie supervises.
I wheel everything over to Lady’s stall. Thank God no one back home can see me.Good-bye, manicure. It was nice knowing you.
Eager to get out of there and start work on Charlotte’s house, I quickly clean the stall. The floor has to be completely dry before I can spread out the clean straw, but I’ll do that later, before I bring in the horses for the night.
At one point, I pause long enough to shrug off the raincoat and hang it over the stall door. Between the physical labor and the raincoat, it’s like working out in a sauna.
The cool air pleasantly greets me and I return to my task.
By the time I’m finished cleaning their stalls, one of my French tips has definitely seen better days. But it’s nothing that a trip to the local spa won’t cure.
Or at least I’m hoping there’s a local spa.
I didn’t exactly spot one while driving through downtown Copper Creek yesterday.
I untie Lady’s lead rope from the metal rail and walk her to the pasture. I remove her halter, close the gate, and return for Scoundrel.
“Try not to get too muddy,” I tell the pair after I’ve removed Scoundrel’s halter.
I back away slowly…until suddenly my left foot starts sinking quickly into the mud.
Oh, damnit. I attempt to lift my foot but the boot is solidly stuck. And my right foot is sinking into the mud, too.
Lovely. So this is how it ends.
I survived putting halters on Lady and Scoundrel and I survived cleaning their stable, and now I’m going to die a slow and painful death in the mud version of quicksand.
My insides tighten and swoon, wondering if it’s too late to write a will.
Since I’m not eager to die this way, I use my foot as leverage, yanking it up hard.
The good news? My foot is no longer stuck.
