Every fence should have a horse, or, is it every horse should have a fence? |
STANDING BY THE FENCE July 18, 2006 I stood by the fence on the corner and got nipped, rubbed, and begged of by a little dun gelding I call Gavin. I also stood by a fence that was part of a stall and got lipped, head-bobbed, and eye-rolled by the bay gelding that lives alone in the stall at Des’ place. I stood by yet another fence where Flossie and Bambi paddock together and got sniffed, licked, nose-investigated, nibbled, and blown in the ear. Like the sweet white middle in an Oreo cookie I stood in the dust between the two mares. One pair of legs in Baxter riding boots surrounded by eight very dark equine cannons, winter mint to the touch, and dust resistant. I rested my chin on my arms as I leaned against the top rail and let the two detectives have their way with me either nose to hair, nose to nose, nose to hand/arm/elbow/wrist, or nose to any other part of me they took a collective fancy to. At one point, like a magician, I pulled out a bottle full of water and let the two nose it to death. Bambi opened her lips while I poured it in. Flossie just sipped from the steady trickle I let pour out by a tilt of my wrist. The water fed the dry earth that spat up dust when it hit the ground and the dark liquid spot began to spread between the long hairs I had pulled earlier out of Flossie’s mane and let drop. I loved the mighty power of their muzzles and noses as I felt it via their shoves and bumps through the bottle. I giggled like a child as they toyed with the object and I wondered what other oddities I could bring from home to amuse them with in the future. Later, the noise of an earth digger drifted across the distance, as I stood dreaming with one hand on Flossie’s hip, fingers ploughing through her winter coat in four neat, even furrows. |