Dirt Nite got cancelled last night. Because actual water fell from the sky.

Was I sad when I plucked my phone out of my heavy jacket’s kleenex pocket with shivering, damp fingers, to receive this news at work? Which I heard while watching the big black clouds come rolling right at me from across the hills while I was busy tucking horses into their extra warm nighttime jammies? Thanked the nice man for the news, spraying disease from my sniffling sinuses and hacking throat back onto my germy little phone, tucked back into my germy, dirty pocket.

Sad to hear that I didn’t have to drag in an entire course worth of agility stuff from out of the trailer, up the little muddy hill in the rain in air that might even spit ice balls at my head? Drag finger pinching metal bases and dogwalk planks and 20′ tunnels and the a-frame which used to be dirty and now, muddy? And then stand around in parkas yelling over rain pounding the covered arena roof, then running around listening to barking which is even louder than the metal roof noise, then drag all the dirty, muddy, finger pinching stuff back down the little muddy hill back into the trailer in the dark?

That instead of all this and more, I would just go home to my house which has a heater and maybe even a can of lowfat minestrone soup with my name on it?

Wouldn’t a good agility person be sad? Weeping?

Yeah. And shouldn’t all sarcasm be gently wiped off the rainbow by the smiling unicorn family?