Tractor-driver...flip that horse!

[insert sing-songy voice here:] Like a good neighbor...the Mosimans are there.  We sport a long pet-sitting history and were we put before a House Judiciary Committee, we would, undoubtedly, be indicted.  Pronounced "not guilty" in two separate murder trials, the Mosiman family are nonetheless still called upon by desperate vacationing families to care for their furry, fin-y, feathered and four-legged little friends.  In this particular case, we were asked to again care for our neighbor's horses. Many would consider this request surprising as, not so long ago, an emergency equine surgery occurred during my watch.  Is there a pet version of Münchausen syndrome? 

Any hoo...one of the horses we were responsible for was an older, somewhat arthritic mare named Street.  Our neighbor walked us through the theoretical possibility that, should she lay down on "the wrong side," she may be unable to get back up by herself.  Describing the series of intricate rope tying maneuvers I was to employ in the event that this should, improbably happen, my neighbor assured me that this rarely occurs and is a cinch to rectify.   

You guessed it...Savannah and I arrived yesterday morning to find Street was giving new meaning to NOT getting up on the wrong side of the bed.  Dilemma number one was getting her poor head out from its wedged position beneath the gate.  Problem number two was that her back was braced against the stable wall.  Even a trick roper would have trouble flipping her over with a wall in the way.  As my chief problem-solver was gone for the morning, I called upon my other neighbor, Jerry who quickly used manpower to re-position the power-less horse into a more-maneuverable position.  Dancing around heavy hooves, we tied her legs for round one of our day-long tug-o-horse contest.  

During rest spells, I updated my friend Sarah who had once briefly "helped" during one of our care-taking sessions.  Assigned to hold the gate open, Sarah's main contribution was screaming down the alley as the horses "thundered" toward her.  

Text from Amy:  (accompanied by dark picture) We are spending our morning trying to flip a horse...thus far, unsuccessfully...wearing sandals...poor choice.

Text from Sarah:  Spending a morning working on a house sounds like a poor choice anyway!  Maybe try the sandals as an excuse to leave early? 

Text from Amy:  And what?  Leave the horse to die? Surely even Sarah Sigmon isn't that heartless?

Text from Sarah:  There's a horse?!?

Text from Amy:  We're trying to flip her over so she can get up...didn't you see my sandal-wearing skills of strength? I sent you a picture, for pete's sake!

Text from Sarah:  Hahaha I read that you were flipping a HOUSE.  Close reading is so important!

Text from Amy:  The horse is finally flipped...how do you flip a house?

Text from Sarah:  It means to take an old crappy house, fix it up, and sell it for more.  I figured it was a Master's Hands church project.

Text from Amy:  Oh...completely reasonable hypothesis.

It took all day and the eventual use of a tractor, but Street finally regained her footing.  The clever use of simple machines were enthusiastically discussed and some were utilized over the course of the day.  Pulley system?  No.  Wedge.  Yes.  Treats were dispensed.  Hay flew.  Hooves flew.  Humans flew.  All the while, I was mentally drafting my pet-care-taking resignation letter.  In between pulling splinters out of my hand and horse manure from beneath my fingernails, I admired the determination and genuine concern of the men who did the bulk of the pushing and pulling.  My husband Brad, neighbor Jerry, and our unsuspecting recruit from the barn-next-door, Roger who tirelessly worked to help Street.  They all got clipped by flailing hooves, they all went air-born at least once and they all paused several times to stroke Street's neck, re-adjust her harness to make her more comfortable, and all fed her a buffet of hay, oats and who knew...yummy Karo Syrup.  What a great way to spend a Saturday!