Show Hawk with the Mohawk is officially the No Mo Show Hawk. An injury suspended his show career and I don’t have the time/money/patience to operate/rehab/torture him to try to get him sound. He is just lame enough he can’t jump any more and he can’t pass a vet. He’s good for light duty and perfectly sound jogging on a straight line for days. My wonderful new vet found him a new gig with another client of hers the same day she met him. I listed all his less appealing qualities, field bully, attention whore, overzealous water slapper, and somehow his list of quirks matched their list of wants to the letter.
He’s starting his new career as grand poobah , emu herder, llama lover and ass man at a new farm today. He will be kicking off his first ten days by serving as a groomsmen when his new owners wed, complete with bow tie and professional pictures. I was promised a copy and you know I will share. He WILL be STUNNING in formalwear. He won’t be far the acres, and I can visit whenever I like.
He will be kicking around a new pasture with the likes of Dali Llama and Ferris Mueller. Nelson Mandellama will eventual meet the scene. No idea what they call the emu, but I bet it’s great. And you know this makes me LOVE his new owners already.
I’m sad and happy today, basically Schrodinger’s Alison. Don’t look in the box unless you are sure you want to know if it’s killing me or injecting fresh life. I’m worried he’ll beat up the llama (he’s never seen one) or be beaten up by the emu (another first for him). I’m worried my horses will miss him and Jaz will be lonely when I camp. His new home needs a herd leader and I wonder how my paints will adjust without one. I’m excited I’ll be able to let my paints live outside, because that’s what they prefer. I’m excited for less work and lower expenses and no more feelings of inadequacy because I can’t keep three living on enough love to properly suit them with my current schedule.
Since he hit the bench almost two years ago, he’s gotten little attention here. I’m spread too thin and I will never find time to show again, even if I could get him sound. I certainly can’t sell him with a known injury.
My next forty years will be spent on trail, where the stress is low, the drinks are cold, and the ride time costs me only the effort to get there and a per night camping fee.
As for Hawk, if everything works out and they don’t send him back, he will be living a real life Charlotte’s web existence as leader of a motley group of farm stock, showered with love and attention and doted on far more than I can manage.
Good luck, my friend. I am so very grateful for the lessons, the love and the success we shared. You will be spoken of fondly, remember often and revered for all those times you made me feel like I was winning, even if we didn’t come home with a blue. We learned so much together. You were a raging pain in my ass and my greatest Sweet Ass success. Here’s hoping this change in venue will suit us all in the best possible ways.
You will be missed, but there is another herd that needs your lead. And frankly, Karma is sick of your shit.
Peace out, my Sweet Ass friend. I’ll visit often and I’ll rest easy, provided you don’t kill the Dali llama. That’s a shit storm of bad press right there. Don’t fuck this up.
The Management,
BitterSweet Ass Acres
