I trudged back to the barn to get a bucket of grain. I hate resorting to this dangerous tactic, walking into a field of horses carrying a bucket. But my friend Eliza
was waiting for me to ride. We had plans to ride on the canal nearby and then
grab some dinner.
In the time elapsed, Eliza had already retrieved her horse Sugar from a far-flung field and tacked up. I thought my bucket of grain would help move things
along on my end.
Every other horse wanted my attention and made an attempt to get a nose in
the bucket. Taff now cantered away from me as if he was spooked. He circled
back, casting irritable glances in my direction. He hid behind his favorite pal,
I talked to Ranger. I let him shove his head in the bucket (Take that, ungrateful
horse of mine! I’m giving the grain to your friend!).
I shooed Ranger away, then stood back and squared my shoulders, facing away
from my horse. I hoped he would approach, but he refused.
The thick trees that surround the field have a hazy look to them in that hot part
of the summer. I scanned the trees, shocked and hurt that I could walk into this
field and leave without being able to halter my horse. About 50 minutes had
and flicked his tail, maintaining that
Finally, he trotted past me from a distance and snorted. This sent me into a
fit of jaw-clenching agony.
Apparently, my horse wanted
nothing to do with me. I knew better
than to walk after him. I turned away,
taking the pressure off so as to not
push him even farther away.
I watched a young woman in the
next field conditioning her horse up
and down a hill. They cantered uphill,
her body in perfect position and the
gelding’s mane and tail flowing in the
I stood in the dirt holding my
halter. I was out of treats. I felt bad.
Embarrassed. Humiliated. Mad. I
hoped that Wonder Woman didn’t
see me watching her from my side of
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