Sometimes I’m not good company

Right now being one of those times.

There are two sides to every story and here’s my side.

If you divided this evening up in to two conversational columns it would be fair and true to say that my input would be in the smaller of the two.

I love hearing my wife talk.

She tells me how her day has been, what kind of a day her colleagues have had, how she’s going to organise things (meetings, aspects of future work), how her public have been.

And she usually delivers it all with such feeling (sometimes good, sometimes not good, sometimes enthusiasm, sometimes devoid of enthusiasm) that it’s…

Compelling.

She does talk, my wife; she rattles on, hopping from event to event or from topic to topic like a conversational grasshopper might, from blade of conversational grass to blade of conversational grass – pausing long enough to sway briefly in the breeze before skittering skywards to the next theme.

It’s a joy to listen to her; in a way it’s a kind of extension to the way I love her. Don’t ask me to explain, it just is. I suppose I kind of bask in her day – or the output to her day.

But late this evening I cut her off; raised my voice harshly to end a conversation.

You see, a day or so ago she sent an email to our landlord; instead of asking for urgent work to be carried out, it firmly implied that we would do the work.

This evening The Lovely S asked me to read the response (which says – paraphrasing – ‘Yep, you guys go ahead and do the work’).

Which is obviously not the position that we wanted to be in; let’s face it, the landlord should get someone round here to fix the problem right now.

I pointed out that our original message to the landlord was flawed.

And I got blamed for it.

I suppose if my day had been less sh1t I may have just rolled with it.

But I didn’t.

I raised my voice, said loudly ‘Don’t blame me for this’ with heavy emphasis on the word ‘Don’t’.

That’s when I was told not to use that tone of voice again and was then put on the receiving end of a helping of cold shoulder as The Lovely S literally and metaphorically closed the door on me and went up to bed.

So because there’s no-one else around and it’s late and I’m feeling absolutely carp can I tell you just a little about my day?

The vet came to see the horses early this evening.

Vinnie needed his annual flu/tet jab. Except an examination of the paperwork revealed that his annual jab is out of date so we have to start the flu/tet course of treatment from scratch – three visits, three injections and each visit/injection fully chargeable.

Oh well.

Then she looked at Beech.

I wanted her there to give me an honest, professional appraisal of him, his condition and his prospects.

The examination was detailed, thorough and lasted over an hour.

On the positive side of things she doesn’t think he’s in any pain.

On the negative side though, her diagnosis is that he’s got a neurological disorder which is robbing him of the ability to judge his personal space and the position and use of his body in that area of space.

Her opinion is that it’s untreatable.

And likely to worsen – in that he might start falling over and be unable to get to his feet soon.

Sue, the yard manager, is convinced that his condition has improved in the last fortnight.

I don’t see it.

But in the face of her optimism I can’t make the decision – that decision – just yet.

So he’s got another few weeks, my lovely, lovely boy – as he isn’t in any pain – to try to prove Sue’s judgement.

All the vet could say was how unfair it all is, that he’s been so unlucky in life.

And he has.

Though I can’t help feeling that an unlucky horse must in some way be the butt end of a neglectful owner; that all of Beech’s ills are attributable to my culpable shortcomings.

I hope, I really hope that I’m not prolonging the inevitable.

In giving him more time I really want to be doing the right thing for him.

Which is ironic, really.

Because that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.

The right thing.

Yet this evening I’ve done the wrong thing, said the wrong thing and said it in the wrong way.

Which all goes to make me not much of a human being really.

I know I should be sitting here feeling sorry for myself but I’m not.

I feel sorry for my wife who has to put up with my shortcomings.

I feel sorry for Beech who has to put up with a neglectful owner.

Because you know what Winston Churchill said about things re-occurring?

‘The first time it’s circumstance. The second time it’s happenstance. The third time it’s enemy action’.

And this is Beech’s third serious incident since he came to live with me.

Perhaps I should find Vin a good home before I break him too.

I just hope I don’t break my marriage too.

B.