promise.”
“Really? You’re not just making that up to make me feel better, right?” Heather probes.
This time, I do chuckle. “No, Heather, I wouldn’t lie to you. I’ll keep you safe. Why are you so afraid of horses?” I ask, genuinely curious because Heather is typically fearless.
“Oh honey, you have no idea. I’m scared of most things that don’t walk on two feet. I can handle house cats, but not so much alley cats. In that case, I’m on the fence. I was making friends with Lucky until he ate my shoes. Now, I’m beginning to reassess my decision to trust dogs.”
“Lucky has a shoe fetish, I admit, but there’s no reason to be afraid of him. He’s a super nice dog. Look how well behaved he is around Becca.”
“I know it’s not rational,” Heather explains. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told about my fear of house pets. I guess it started when I was a kid. People would tell me how nice their animal was, and how it would never bite anyone. Then it would turn around and bite me, and only me. Early on, I learned that I can’t trust animals. They call me the anti-Dr. Doolittle in my house. One of my mom’s favorite charities is a Greyhound rescue group, and she is very disappointed that I never help with her charity work. Have you seen those dogs? They look like walking skeletons. It’s Halloween every day around them.”
“I can see I’m going to have to teach you to use some of your moxie around animals. If you act nervous, it makes them nervous. I’d be more than happy to work with you, on your confidence. I have a sweet border collie who can serve as your personal therapy dog to help overcome your phobia. Annie loves everybody,” I explain.
Heather grins nervously. “You do realize that’s what everyone says to me, just before their dog takes a big chunk out of my calf. It would stand to reason horses would be an extremely bad bet for me.”
“Gidget, I understand your reluctance. But I’m totally sure that I can keep you safe. My grandpa used to have a cattle ranch in Oklahoma; I used to help him train horses and herd cattle and sheep. I know I can keep my lazy riding horses well in hand.”
Heather visibly relaxes “Okay, I’ll let you handle it. Just to let you know—I totally scream like a girl. Mindy accuses me of trying to break her eardrums. You might want to avoid that if possible. It’s not pleasant.”
“I’ll keep it in mind and do my best to avoid the pain. But I’ve got you covered. Do you want to start with croquet or lawn bowling?” I ask, trying to get her mind off the presence of my big four-legged babies.
“Lawn bowling? You mean the traditional kind?” she asks her eyes lighting up with excitement.
“Yep, I’ve got a gen-u-ine vintage old person’s game here. We can pretend we’re an old married couple livin’ in Florida or something.”
“It’s funny you should say that because I learned it with my grandparents. We used to play every Sunday after church. My grandpa was a serious competitor. He even wrote down the score on a little pad with a small red pencil. After he passed away, my grandma found boxes of used pads where he had kept the scores for years. I don’t know if he was planning for an epic rematch or what. I have to warn you, I’m pretty good,” Heather brags with a smile.
“Well, I haven’t had the advantage of being well schooled in the proper use of lawn bowling equipment, but we spent a lot of time improvising games while serving in the desert. I played several games with rocks which strongly resemble lawn bowling, so I might just give you a run for your money,” I challenge.
“Oh, you’re so on, Cowboy! If you win, I’ll make you a batch of cookies or a pie of your choice,” she offers magnanimously.
“That’s a generous offer, considering you’re going to lose this bet. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?” I tease, waiting to see if she’ll rise and take the bait.
“Yes, I’m sure,
“Really? You’re not just making that up to make me feel better, right?” Heather probes.
This time, I do chuckle. “No, Heather, I wouldn’t lie to you. I’ll keep you safe. Why are you so afraid of horses?” I ask, genuinely curious because Heather is typically fearless.
“Oh honey, you have no idea. I’m scared of most things that don’t walk on two feet. I can handle house cats, but not so much alley cats. In that case, I’m on the fence. I was making friends with Lucky until he ate my shoes. Now, I’m beginning to reassess my decision to trust dogs.”
“Lucky has a shoe fetish, I admit, but there’s no reason to be afraid of him. He’s a super nice dog. Look how well behaved he is around Becca.”
“I know it’s not rational,” Heather explains. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told about my fear of house pets. I guess it started when I was a kid. People would tell me how nice their animal was, and how it would never bite anyone. Then it would turn around and bite me, and only me. Early on, I learned that I can’t trust animals. They call me the anti-Dr. Doolittle in my house. One of my mom’s favorite charities is a Greyhound rescue group, and she is very disappointed that I never help with her charity work. Have you seen those dogs? They look like walking skeletons. It’s Halloween every day around them.”
“I can see I’m going to have to teach you to use some of your moxie around animals. If you act nervous, it makes them nervous. I’d be more than happy to work with you, on your confidence. I have a sweet border collie who can serve as your personal therapy dog to help overcome your phobia. Annie loves everybody,” I explain.
Heather grins nervously. “You do realize that’s what everyone says to me, just before their dog takes a big chunk out of my calf. It would stand to reason horses would be an extremely bad bet for me.”
“Gidget, I understand your reluctance. But I’m totally sure that I can keep you safe. My grandpa used to have a cattle ranch in Oklahoma; I used to help him train horses and herd cattle and sheep. I know I can keep my lazy riding horses well in hand.”
Heather visibly relaxes “Okay, I’ll let you handle it. Just to let you know—I totally scream like a girl. Mindy accuses me of trying to break her eardrums. You might want to avoid that if possible. It’s not pleasant.”
“I’ll keep it in mind and do my best to avoid the pain. But I’ve got you covered. Do you want to start with croquet or lawn bowling?” I ask, trying to get her mind off the presence of my big four-legged babies.
“Lawn bowling? You mean the traditional kind?” she asks her eyes lighting up with excitement.
“Yep, I’ve got a gen-u-ine vintage old person’s game here. We can pretend we’re an old married couple livin’ in Florida or something.”
“It’s funny you should say that because I learned it with my grandparents. We used to play every Sunday after church. My grandpa was a serious competitor. He even wrote down the score on a little pad with a small red pencil. After he passed away, my grandma found boxes of used pads where he had kept the scores for years. I don’t know if he was planning for an epic rematch or what. I have to warn you, I’m pretty good,” Heather brags with a smile.
“Well, I haven’t had the advantage of being well schooled in the proper use of lawn bowling equipment, but we spent a lot of time improvising games while serving in the desert. I played several games with rocks which strongly resemble lawn bowling, so I might just give you a run for your money,” I challenge.
“Oh, you’re so on, Cowboy! If you win, I’ll make you a batch of cookies or a pie of your choice,” she offers magnanimously.
“That’s a generous offer, considering you’re going to lose this bet. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?” I tease, waiting to see if she’ll rise and take the bait.
“Yes, I’m sure,
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