Communicating With My Trainer: Texts v. Voicemails

In the four months I’ve now had Knight, I’ve learned something about communicating with my trainer: texts equal good or neutral news and voicemails equal bad news. Is it just me or is this pretty much true?

You see, last night Mark and I were at a tango class and when I picked up my phone afterward, I noticed a missed call and voicemail from my trainer. Her message started something to the effect: I rode Knight and afterward, it seemed he wasn’t himself. When you can, please call me.

Dum dum dum. . .

I called and she explained how he wasn’t his normal fall-asleep-while-being-groomed self. He kept turning around to look at his belly. He had pawed the ground a little.

He was a bit lazy when she rode him, but it had been a hot day and all the horses were a little lazy.  She added that he had pooped once during their ride. (His record is four times for the duration of one afternoon with me–it’s impressive, I know).

She said she had given him Banamine and had already called the vet to let her know what was going on. She was at the barn just hanging out with him, walking and would call the vet again (and me) if he got any worse. I should continue on with my dinner plans.

I received a text toward the end of our quick meal that Knight seemed back to normal and she had pulled his hay and was going to put him back in his stall. I texted back a big thank you, that I believed her, but that I wanted to see him with my own eyes.

I had on dance shoes and did not want to waste time and miles to return home to put on barn-appropriate gear, so I asked Mark if he had anything in his car I could borrow (we had driven separately as he is on a performance dance team and was at the studio for several hours that afternoon).

He produced a pair of used dance practice socks and his light blue Converse. The socks were still damp, but I put them on anyway, thinking, “Must see Knight. Must see Knight.”

I forged ahead into the darkness and hoped I wouldn’t see Knight on the ground. When my eyes adjusted and I drew close enough to his stall, I could see him standing on one side. I approached the gate and he walked over to me and began sniffing my jeans, the way my dog sniffs my clothing when I come back from the barn.

We chatted for a moment and then I thought I should brush his tail. I led him to my tack locker and he seemed completely normal. I sprayed his black tail with conditioner and then meticulously sectioned off little pieces to brush through. A proper tail brushing is something I rarely seem to have time for.

During the 20 minutes he had zero colic symptoms, but just to be sure, I hand walked him for a while. When I left I was confident that Knight was fine and he’d still be there waiting for me in the morning.

And this was the glorious and welcome message I received to start my Presidents Day.

Your turn to share: What’s your view on texts v. voicemails? Are voicemails generally more ominous?

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