Tuesday, December 7, 2010

You're In My Space

Padwon & I have an agreement. She's the horse. I'm the human. She weighs 1000 lbs. I weigh...ahemmm, somewhat less. So she needs to respect my space and not be on top of me.

That works - fairly well. I tap her chest, she backs up. When gently pressed on her side or patted on her hip she shifts over/away. But being blessed with the horse sized version of a Kardashian butt?

Girl friend, we're gonna have to get you rear view mirrors. 'Cause if you're at the south end of this north bound horse when she decides to turn, she can really clear the deck.

We've discussed this & I'm working on getting more of a response than the horsie equivalent of, "Oophs, my bad?"

Still, overall she's fairly responsive to me.

But...enter #1 Daughter.

We put the hay into the stall this year. Padwon prefers not to go in there, and it is more convenient to feed under the loafing area anyway. I've never had a problem with her following me into the stall and she waits, somewhat impatiently, for her food to be put in her bucket. But the Daughter, allowed (encouraged her?) to follow her into the stall.

That's when a light bulb went on in that little horse head. Grass/Alfalfa mix hay? Spare alfalfa leaves falling onto the ground? Storehouse of alfalfa leaves in the stall?

Yippee!

Since Thanksgiving, I now open the door to the stall and a little blond head is hot on my heels, her muzzle hits the ground and methodically siphons the alfalfa leaves off the ground. In mere moments she looks like a chipmunk. One of these days I'm going to step back, with an armful of hay, and end up tripping and sitting on her ears.

She's like a dang vacuum cleaner.

Anyone want to rent her?
-

No comments: