It's a bird, it's a plane, it's... Barbie?!?!

It was one of those hot summer days where our boarders would show up with coolers of beer and outfits best described as questionable.

We really hadn't been doing much working. The Boss Mare had ridden one or two, and I'd been playing swap-a-pony in our pastures. You know what I mean.. When you have to move one horse, but end up trading around five others to make the move "smoother".

He pulled up in a Tahoe that screamed trashy, a fact punctuated by the loud rap music spilling from his speakers. I felt like I had just stepped into Pretty Woman, if Julia Roberts were bare-chested, beer-bellied, and barefoot and the saleswomen were clad in Spandex pants, tall boots, and grime.

I think it might have been the giant cross tattoo on his chest or the faint aroma of cigarettes and weed that clung to his worn-out sweatpants, but he stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Are you guys missing a horse?"
"No, I don't think so." The Boss Mare chimed from her perch.
"Well, this horse with a mask and cape just came through my front yard."

Every head snapped to stare at me. I stood up. Barbie is allergic to fly bites and wears nose to tail protection almost all the time. "That would be mine."

So began the frantic search for Barbs. Tahoe Boy drove me around our neighborhood, searching for my disappearing horse. He explained that she had just strolled through his yard, past his faux pit bull (I say faux because this sucker was clearly some Mastiff/Boxer variation labeled "pit bull" to sound cool..).

The Boss Mare rang me up. "We found her! She's on the other side of our neighbor!"

In other words? A briar patch.

I thanked Tahoe Boy, climbed out of the SUV, and raced my way past a trailer. I picked my way across a field littered with beer cans, baby diapers, and used fireworks. Amid the remnants of a redneck Fourth of July, Barbie had left her thoughts of how the other side lived.

I have never been so thrilled to find a pile of poop.

Then I saw her, complete with "cape and mask". I started through the patch, stringing words together as fluently as a sailor. By the time I reached her, the blood had already reached my socks. She was bumping against the barbwire fence, and as I slung her halter on, she caught her hoof through the bottom strands.

Luckily, one of our boarders helped keep her calm on the other side of the fence. I got her sorry behind out unscathed, and then we began the real journey.

I'm not sure if the Boss Mare has really been around OTTBs much because when I mentioned bringing the trailer up, she promptly told me I could walk Barbie home. Let's do some math, shall we?

1 very hot Thoroughbred+ stress + more stress + being led away from the most direct route home + 1 faux pit bull + a narrow street + a meth house = GIANT bad idea.

Barbie is not fond of cars or dogs, in particular big ones who think she'd make a nice "natural" alternative. And we all know from the Giant Pasture incident that the idea of walking a horse back gives me chills, especially when we are on a public road.

We made it passed the dog, down the hill, around the meth house, and passed the field of foxtrotters. I have never been more thankful for a lack of cars or a chain across a pony's nose.

Finally home, I assessed the damage. Two little cuts, not a rip in her blanket. Of course, she's dripping in sweat and stress, but that's not long term.

"She must have gone over the back fence." The Boss Mare contemplated. ".....You weren't exagerrating."

Like I've said before, Barbie likes to pasture-hop.
Literally.

-- Girl