When I was little, The Best Nest was my favorite bedtime story (ironic, given that I’ve grown up with an irrational, debilitating fear of birds). If you’re not familiar with the story, here’s a run-down. Mrs. Bird wakes up one morning and decides she’s sick of the tiny little birdhouse she and Mr. Bird have shared for, the reader must assume, the early years of their marriage, and she’s ready to move on up. So she sends Mr. Bird out on the task of finding more suitable accommodations. Mr. Bird, eager to please his young wife (who seems a little needy, in hindsight, if you ask me), tries out all kinds of alternatives in an effort to please her: a church tower, which is lovely until the bells ring, a pleasant tree, which becomes very unpleasant when Mr. Raccoon returns home. . . you get the idea. Lo and behold, by the end of the story, Mr. and Mrs. Bird agree that their old birdhouse is, after all, The Best Nest.
Where am I going with this?
Well, as some of you will recall, I made the decision a few months ago to move Tucker out of the barn that I loved, where he and I had spent countless happy hours for about a year and a half, in favor of another barn, in the hopes that I’d jump more, since it’s an H/J place, and I have friends there, fellow amateurs like me, and we’d help each other out with jump schools, etc. (not to mention, drink lots of wine in the tackroom). The barn I moved to is really beautiful, the facilities are awesome (super clean barn, great footing in the rings, lots of trails, plenty of turnout), and the care is excellent. Unfortunately, something I hadn’t anticipated occurred. I don’t want to give it much blog space, because (1) it’s somewhat ridiculous; and (2) I swore to myself I’d never publicly disparage anyone when I started this blog. I think, though, that I can sum it up in two words, and you’ll all know just what I’m talking about: Barn Drama. We’ve all been exposed to it, we’ve all probably been the victim of it at some point. It comes in many different flavors, and suffice it to say, this was a flavor I found entirely unpalatable.
So, I did what I always do in times of crisis, and called up a friend for a drink. This friend was my former barn manager, and after a little begging on my part, she agreed to find some room for us in the barn again. No, I’m kidding, actually she told me that everyone misses me and Tucker, and they’d love to have us back! So here we are, back where we belong. File this one away in the “If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It” Category. Even Tigger, who formerly convinced us all that Tucker’s very existence drove him insane, gave the big man an enthusiastic nicker and spent the first twenty minutes of Tucker’s arrival like this:
How two tall horses say hello: There's a matching Tucker nose on the other side of this wall...
Of course, because this is the way my life goes, the day after our arrival I contracted a nasty bug that has had me couch-bound, and Tucker pulled a hind shoe. So it’s been a slow news week. But, I know Tucker is in good hands, and I hear he is getting along with his new turnout buddy Ace (who is adorable, pictures to follow), and other than being a little chatty (lots of old flames he has to get reacquainted with), he’s behaving himself.
I love my house
I love my nest
In all the world
This nest is best!