For me, February means Mudpack Mondays and quiet, sunny afternoons at the hay feeder while all my dear therapy students are on winter break. From what I understand though, the month is considerably more challenging for Humans, who have invented something called Valentine’s Day. As near as I can figure out, this is a holiday created to make you feel badly about the state of your romantic life, for which you do not get time off, and which has now evolved to make you feel badly about all your relationships. 

Allow me to add to your load. 

I understand that Humans (who, frankly, overcomplicate these things) communicate about their relationships using a system called “love languages”—something I find remarkable for a species that struggles to simply speak English. The “love languages” they’ve come up with are: quality time, acts of service, receiving gifts, physical touch, and words of affirmation. People need to be aware of what language they prefer to speak, and what language their partner prefers to receive. 

Quadrupeds should be aware of their own love languages and their Humans’. This will help you help them to celebrate properly. By way of example, I will provide you my thoughts on love languages. 

The Love Languages I Give

Quality Time: All time is Quality Time with me. Think of that when you shovel my poo, Biped. This is the most important poo you will ever see. What is more quality than that? 

Acts Of Service: Sometimes, the expressions of a love language come as much from the absence of something as the presence of something. I didn’t throw you off in the Spooky Corner of the ring when the barn cat popped out of the jump storage area. I choose not to step on your toe that time you came out in your sneakers to check my hay and water. I could have sneezed on you, but I didn’t. I’m so generous.

Receiving Gifts: See above. 

Physical Touch: You’re sitting on my back for a whole 30 minutes. That is plenty of physical touch. If you’re really desperate for more, I could use a little help getting the green slime off the corners of my mouth after a ride and could use your ribcage to wipe if you’ll just stay still.

Words Of Affirmation: Oh, how unfortunate; while I can understand English, I find it difficult to speak. Perhaps ask your trainer for affirmation about your horsemanship … or, at least, words about your horsemanship.

The Love Languages I Receive

Quality Time: To be honest, the Human and I have different ideas of what constitutes “quality.” She thinks of this as long grooming sessions where she talks incessantly about her feelings and asks me a lot of rhetorical questions. I think of quality time as time I spend eating—ideally alone. 

I prefer eating grass, which usually means hand-grazing, but annoyingly she still insists on watching my waistline and limits hand-grazing sessions. So, for me, most quality time this time of year is picking hay in my field with my friends. I don’t really need her for that. If she wants to give me quality time, the best thing she can do is throw the hay over the fence and then step back from the gate. Keep stepping back. A little farther. A little farther…

Acts Of Service: I am so glad you asked. Like many celebrities, I believe all acts should be in my service because I have a divine right to luxury, further enhanced by my saintly dedication to education. But again, which acts we’re talking about makes a great deal of difference as to whether they’re in my service, or the Human’s. For me, acts of service are much more about keeping the food coming and keeping my social media up-to-date. Fielding the many requests for celebrity appearances, testing homemade cookie recipes, that sort of thing. If it doesn’t fall under the category of appropriate behavior for an administrative assistant in a professional setting, it doesn’t qualify. 

Receiving Gifts: Omg, yes, thanks for asking. No diet cookies, please, unless they’re coated in molasses. Dietetic cookies aren’t gifts. They’re lies. 

Physical Touch: Just, no. 

Words Of Affirmation: I frankly do not need my Human’s affirmation, or anyone else’s.

Jitterbug is a Michigan-bred Professional Draft Cross and occasional Chronicle columnist who skillfully avoided saddles until age 5. Since then, she has been lauded for her talent in successfully managing humans while training herself to one day achieve eventing greatness. Jitter and her human live in central Kentucky. Read all of Jitter’s COTH columns.