Sept. 14, 2002 ~ Two out of three horses
enjoy being kissed on the head and having their necks hugged. The third horse was hungry and wanted to eat his hay this morning. Dakotah is such a big, sweet baby. Every evening the horses come to the pen, where they eat hay and spend the night. In the morning I turn Dakotah and Sugar out into the pasture, and almost without fail, Dakotah will stop on his way out, just stop next to me and wait. He's waiting for a smooch and a hug, and I'm happy to oblige. It doesn't matter if I'm all cleaned up and ready to head out the door for work. There is nothing on this earth sweeter than the smell of a horse. Well, babies smell sweet, too, but I LOVE the way horses smell. Soldier Boy thinks I'm goofy, that horses smell like dirty animals who need a bath. But even when they're wet or muddy or have been rolling in who-knows-what, they still smell like sunshine and happiness to me.
When I was a kid, I was absolutely horse crazy. Started out as pony crazy, as I slowly but surely "adopted" a neighbor's pony. The owners finally just gave up and turned over all responsibility for the pony to me, which I was happy to accept. Happy? I was in heaven. But I outgrew that Shetland girl baby, and started saving my lunch money for weekly horse rentals. Once a week, one hour a week, and I had a favorite horse... Scooter. How I loved him! One summer when I was twelve, I worked at the local YMCA in order to raise the money for a horse. A little bay mare, she was. Kept her for about three years, until "horse crazy" changed to "boy crazy," and the boys -- one in particular -- complained about all the time I spent at the stables. Fact is, he was downright jealous of my horse. So I reluctantly sold my little bay, and not long afterwards, dumped the guy, too. What was I thinking, getting rid of my horse? Temporary insanity, that's all I can say.
Years passed, and we bought the farm. First on the agenda, for me, anyway, was a horse. I always wanted a place where I could keep the horses close by, where I could walk out and visit them in the moonlight or in the rain, where I could hug them and talk to them any hour of the day or night. And that's why they have to come in and stay in the pen at night, really. They'd probably be okay in the pastures, but I want them where I can see them. It makes me feel safe, secure in the knowledge that they are near.
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We've been keeping the female ducks and one young chicken in a separate pen, but yesterday I noticed that the chicken was about 3/4 grown, and could probably mingle with the other chickens without harm. So I opened the gate between the pens, and let everybody visit. So far, so good. I worry most about the female ducks. Male ducks are so aggressive at this time of the year, that they can hurt the females. So I will check on them, daily, to be sure they're okay. And of course I can hear them quacking if there's trouble.
That's the motto around here, I guess. "Yell if you need help... Mom will come running!" Well, Mom will walk very quickly, anyway. And she will yell and may even carry a big stick.
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