Wrangler Dani

In five days, I’ll travel north for the Big Scary Test and Etc. for my horsey and kidlet job. (Yes, my official title is Horsey and Kidlet Girl. FYI.) I’m a little nervous terrified about all the tests, people, people watching me ride, oh yeah, and um… TESTS.

But – in a futile effort to conquer said terror, I’m going to share a couple of stories about why I’m lucky to have such a great job.

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Cuteness Exhibit A: (Teddy is autistic. He grabs onto certain ideas or words and fixates on them regularly… the other day that word was “Poppy”. This will matter later, I promise.)

Anyways, one of our horseys was being skittish about a certain large truck make Big Backing Up noises, while little Teddy was on board. We were doing okay until the truck started into the serious revving and backing, at which point Horsey started to really lose his shizzle and I grabbed Teddy off his back.

Teddy looks at me, slightly bewildered from his quick dismount, and puts his arms around my neck. “Poppy fall,” he says, tiny four-year-old eyes looking into mine.

“Poppy didn’t fall!” I reply, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Miss Dani caught you!”

He seems to mull this over for a minute, little brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he comes to a conclusion.”Poppy Dani,” he says with a smile, relieved by the realization that I did, indeed, catch him off of Crazy Horsey.

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Cuteness Exhibit B: Sunshine is usually all sugar and no spice… but she listens to everything her daddy says… and definitely knows how to make unruly toddlers (like Yours Truly) mind.

“Okay,” I say, as she and her steed swing around a barrel. “Now we’re going to head for the gate and get off our horse.”

“I want to get off here,” Sunshine says, big blue eyes working overtime to bend me to her will.

“Not here, babe,” I reply, “we’re almost to the gate, and then we’ll get off.”

She seems a bit taken aback by my non-compliance, but she knows how to deal with rascals of this nature. “Well,” she says stoically, in all of her five-year-old patience, “I’m going to count to 10, and we’d better be there….” She trails off with the ominous inflection of a parenting pro.

I laugh, and to my amazement, she starts counting. “One, toooooooo, freeeeee, fowww, fiiiive, sissss, seven, eiiight, niiiiiine…. don’t make me say teeeeeeeeeeeeen!”

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I guess my effort wasn’t so futile after all. As long as nobody counts to 1o during certification, I’ll be good.