Mondays should be shaved from the week.

Anyone who reads my blog knows I’m not a fan of Mondays. So decidedly, I am already predisposed to grumpiness the moment my alarm goes off every Monday morning. With the addition of daylight savings, where an hour of my precious sleeping-time is taken away… well, you might as well be taking my grumpiness, and simmering it in a saucepan for hours and hours until it becomes a reduction of dense, thick, viscous, tasty evil. A glaze of ire, which will flavour my day richly with its savoury darkness. Yes, it’s like that.

Okay, so I’m not *that* evil. I’m not evil that’s up to par with the likes of Hitler or Nero… I’m slightly closer to that creepy lady that seems to exist in every neighbourhood… the one that glares at passers by from behind her tatty curtains with narrowed eyes and a frown that seems permanently embedded into the lines of her skin. You just know there are little skeletons of unfortunate children who lost their ball on her property, or who were dared to go trick-or-treating at her door, all hidden the spare room, tidily arranged in a file-box under the bed.

Luckily, I had a nice weekend to balance this horrible weekday this week. I spent it mostly with S-II who came a-campin’ in the small space we managed to carve out for her in the ‘craft-room’ (which is more like one of the rooms from Clean House—I half expect Niecy Nash and her team to appear at my door with her finger wagging and the castigations flowing from her mouth). She worked on her new regency ballgown under my less-than apt guidance, and hung out while I forced more Firefly episodes on her and made her uncomfortable with various interactions with my husband. I think that’s why Steph II gets so much of my respect… she’s one of the only friends I have who can brave my teeny house and my weird antics for a whole weekend. She’s a brave, brave soul. Sunday, I spent time with Taglius Stampy McHoofington… who I dare say, is looking more like a Dutch warmblood or Baroque horse and less like a Belgian draft every day. My cinnamon destrier! He’s getting less ponyish-looking because I’ve worked his hay-belly off and built up some muscle. He is really moving nicely too.

So, to the meat of the post today... I am seeking feedback!

I am considering roaching (cutting off) Tag’s mane. I hear gasps of horror whenever I mention it from my fellow barn-mates… however I think shaving his mane off, and then letting it grow back Trojan-Horse style might make for something attractive for one, and for two, I’m hoping his brittle, ragged mane will grow back better and stronger. I am sure for some months it will be awkward-looking when it gets too long to stand up any more and start falling down his neck in an equine equivalent to the classic Poindexter-bowl-cut.

Should I roach Tag’s mane (I would leave his forelock, of course!)? Here is a picture of a draft with a roached mane. Tag has that big, thick, cresty neck. I think he’ll look even more dignified and noble with the Mohawk… but sometimes I just love his creamy mane, and dream of braiding it like they do with drafts. It will grow back though.

Here’s a Fjord pony with very nicely roached and cleverly trimmed mane. Fjords have the primitive dorsal stripe that puts a black stripe right down the middle of their mane… so this owner has used the two tones to their advantage and made this cool design… Tag has no such stripe… nor do I care to maintain that kind of mane-topiary… What are your thoughts? Do take the poll, and comment all you please!

Have a decent Monday… for what it’s worth… being Monday and all.

PS, this Office special is supposed to be a grey wolf. I think she personally looks more fox-like… despite her colouring. I had fun building the background though. I even put an older office special in a frame on the wall. I’m such an egotist. ;)