Sorry Fury

In my defense I had a lot of time on my hands, okay?

Yes, with a pandemic sweeping the globe most of us had an unusual amount of spare time but I was also immobile and bored... very, very bored.

...and dealing with pain.

One week before my peroneal tendon ankle surgery - one week! - all "elective" surgeries were canceled. Forget about me and my bum ankle I couldn't understand how cancer or heart surgery could be considered elective. That was my mantra when the pain got to be too much, "At least I'm not waiting for cancer surgery."

So what could be done? What could pass the time? I'd already watched every documentary I could find on the history of the British Royal Family dating back to time in memoriam.

Why?

I DON'T KNOW!

In times of crisis we do crazy things; which brings me to my next point.

The local craft store has wheelchairs available to the public! It was a place to go; a place where I found pretty colours and textures in the yarn section.

And so the age of knitting began. Everyone, I mean EVERYONE got knitted gifts for Christmas.

My mother received a shawl.

My daughter-in-law to be received a purse.

My son was gifted a wacky pair of socks.

My husband; a blanket which caused him to shed a tear. I still can't believe that.

And the neighbour's newborn got a cow which, in retrospect, was altogether way too big for any child under five!

Somewhere between purse and cow my surgery came and went. Then rehab started. Then the very slow role out of vaccines.

Did I mention that I have a serious congenital heart defect?

My cardiologist did not want me to leave my house unless absolutely necessary. My physiotherapist was concerned about me traversing the icey roads. I was not able to drive even if I wanted to. So I hobbled around my house wondering what to do.

This brings us to the tragic events that followed.

I got creative.

It started with my rabbit. I thought he needed a friend.

So I made him one.

Then my dog seemed cold.

So I made her a sweater.

Then. I thought. Maybe the chickens need sweaters too!

They didn't. They really, didn't.

Finally, I turned my attention to poor unsuspecting, Fury.

If you have had the opportunity to spend time among equestrians, you may have heard the term "heart horse." Fury is my heart horse. He is a retired standardbred pacer which basically means he used to run real fast with a sulky and driver.

During his racing days Fury couldn't stand coming in first. Second place was where it was at! His time out west was faster than any horse could run in the east but just a hair slower than the fastest horses in the west. Still following me? Anyway, he was shipped up this way (to the east). When he got here he decided it was best to remain a hair behind. It was his thing. Sometimes, he would win, but I have no doubt that those wins were complete mistakes on his part.

Even though his race groom loved him and proclaimed him to be a really sweet horse, I feel like Fury only truly came into his own when he came to me. He really does prefer carrots and pony rides to the glitz and glamour of the racetrack. Now at 18 years old it is a chore to get him to go any faster than a mosey but that's fine with me. We both have broken down legs to deal with. I understand!

Maybe it was unfair of me to take advantage of his good graces but I stand by my defense that mosquitos bother him. They do! He's a true bug magnet black horse. Sure, I could have bought a sporty bonnet for him but why spend money when I can MAKE him one!

It has been a month since I was fully vaccinated and strangely the knitting needles, knitting bowl, place markers and scissors have not been picked up in a while.

This pandemic has inspired grief, fear and rage but it has also brought families closer together, made us reconsider what is truly important and it has, for better or worse, bestowed upon the animals of my farm completely useless attire.