Tuesday

Day 2: I have to talk my way into the show grounds because I don't have my pass yet. It would be easier to con my way onto a transatlantic flight. Lucky for me it is Tuesday before 7 am, so the guard is lenient, in his spruce meadows fashion, ID, license plate, DNA swab... Oh, you're a groom are you? Well I guess I'll let you in to feed.

It's the best time of day, quiet. They eat while I clean stalls and set out tack, the narrow margins of space make it feel a bit like grooming on a boat. Nothing can be out of place, this is a tricky exercise we'll see how I feel about it on Sunday.

Lunging Aurora is a bit like flying a kite, transitions occur at cruising altitude which is about three feet above the top rail of the lunging paddock. Spinal flexibility indeed.

Each time anyone touches Duvalin's door, the rumble begins across the aisle. He doesn't just remember her - he REMEMBERS her. Capone makes it clear that he has spent the past three years doing nothing but dream of the little painted hussy. She's far to smart to believe a word he says and she ignores him coyly. We go to the wash rack and are heralded by Capone's calling and banging when we leave and when we return.

At the wash rack I spy a new grooming hero. There is a man there wearing waterproof overalls (very deadliest catch, like I said- I'm on a boat...) he is standing on top of a purple ladder scrubbing a horse's poll. I say ladder, I don't mean like Alana's step ladder, I mean a full on five feet tall paint a room kind of ladder, and did I mention it is purple? That's right this is a man who knows where the top of the horse is, I'm a little awestruck.

As is standard, all dogs flock to our area. The tallest on our aisle is a miniature Australian something shaggy with a blue eye. (so yeah, we're topping out at about 10 inches max) She also happens to be in heat. This means that every noise Capone makes is chorused by Cashew, the shaggy chestnut dachshund who must now be tied outside his stall. The longing is palpable from those two, obviously the reason animals are so successful at population is because they are not discrete. They want it, and they're going to talk about it, a lot.

While T and A hack I take a break from the testosterone and go get my pass. "m-i-c-h-e-a-l-a?" the red blazered girl asks (yes Nick, they're all still French-Canadian). Nope, I spell it for her. "Yes, tami wasn't sure."
"That's cause I'm new."
My picture is simply a picture. My eyes are open and it is therefore declared a success. Now I feel legitimate.
It is 11, we're done for the morning... now what?