Susanna J. Sturgis   Martha's Vineyard writer and editor
writer editor born-again horse girl

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Smoosh

November 10, 2006

Yesterday morning Rhodry and I walked into town for weekly writers' breakfast at the Daily Grind. (I eat breakfast; he lies on the porch and panhandles the patrons.) Along the way we had a disagreement about where it was OK for him to squat. I yanked his leash to get him further onto the scrubby shoulder of the road. Woops. He moved in the right direction, but the leash pulled my hand along, and for one of my fingers it was not the right direction at all.

If you're going to smoosh a finger, the ring finger of your nondominant hand would seem to be a good choice: you can still grip with thumb and forefinger, and flip the bird to anyone who deserves it. Wrong. There are no good choices. Two of my regular activities, typing and guitar practicing, involve all five fingers on both hands. Rhodry, Allie, and I went for a trail ride at the end of the day. The reins pass between the ring and little fingers of each hand; communicating with a horse by rein involves much finger squeezing, and when you still your hands it's your fingers that block the reins from moving. Yeow. My gloves offered some compression relief, but when I got back to the barn the fourth finger of my left hand was set in a curve, and the adjacent fingers were acting like outriggers.

Already this morning I've discovered that manipulating a washcloth around one's toes involves more finger action than I'd hitherto suspected, and so does wrapping one's fingers around the handle of a tea-kettle. As far as I can tell, it's just a wrenched first knuckle, one of those things that time and a little TLC will take good care of, but of course I've got a horse-sit this weekend, and a six-month supply of hay is arriving at my home barn tomorrow afternoon.

Rhodry's only comment go far is "I am a good puppy! Where are the cookies?" (Day before yesterday he disappeared off the barn radar screen when I was heading out for a ride. He was later discovered in the Lobdells' mud room, helping himself to Chamois's food. That night he had no appetite for his own.) He is lucky I carry the treats in my right pocket and access them with my right hand.

 

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