The Grey

I walk out the door and my old horse whinnies a greeting. The rest of the herd nonchalantly grazing slowly start working their way in my direction on the off chance that I might have a treat stuck in my pocket. This morning I indeed have some biscuits in my jacket, and as I walk though the stile into the pasture they, all six, stop their eating, perk their ears in my direction, and start moseying over to me.

The old grey get to me firsts, he is the oldest in the herd and I have had him the longest. He is about 25 now, can’t know for sure for he was an Arkansas 10 when I got him 15 years ago. He doesn’t know it, but he is an Arabian, but he does know that he is proud to be a horse. Over the years he, gilded so long ago that he cannot remember being a stallion, has had to let his position in the herd slip so that now he is the last in line. Even the three-year-old filly has climb above him in rank. He has accepted his fall in status gracefully having realized that his fighting was in vain and takes the nicks and bulling from those who have showed him that they are his better without rancor.

When they tell him he has to wait to drink, he waits, if they do not want him around the round bail feeder he goes out into the pasture and grazes until they have had their fill. Sometime they let him hang around as they eat and drink, but they all have to wait their turn. The big buckskin mare is the boss and always gets to drink when she wants to drink, eat where and when she wants to. And when she wants to play, the herd plays.

I do not interfere with the dynamic of the herd; I only observe it and only step in if their shenanigans put me in danger, which seldom happens. I walked on away from the fence looking at the frost on the ground glistering in the bright sunshine of the sun that had just climbed up above the tree line. Thanks to all the recent rain and mild weather the pasture is very verdant, much more than is normal for this time of year.

I, respecting her rank, gave the buckskin a biscuits fist. The three-year-old filly was very exuberant and excited to get hers, so I obliged her next, then in turn I let another horse come up to me, I do not allow more then one horse at a time to get with in arms reach for that is a good way to get hurt if they should get into an altercation.

The old grey stood back, he was not going to get his ass kicked over a biscuit, but I am sure he knew that I would not forget him. After the other horse had come up to me three different times, I walked over to the grey and gave him four biscuits. He munched them slowly with savor, not greedily and hurriedly like the filly. As I walked out of the pastures to come in and write this the herd went back to their horsy things to my great delight.
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©
Rexx