Her name is "Spree," but I call her "Brigitte" because her mane seems to favor falling over her left eye. Reminds me of another Brigitte, another time, a lifetime ago.
She's a flea-bitten grey Arab, just like my partner, and looks like she could be his little sister.
Just came in.
The flies are bad and they've found a playground on her face.
I thought a little marigold spray might discourage them a little, save her tossing her head and snorting them away quite so much.
I soaked some on a rag and stepped into her paddock with her.
It took a little while.
I didn't assume anything.
I approached as long as she showed me one eye; when she showed me two, I backed off.
If she wanted to bolt, I helped her bolt.
When she approached me, she got a nibble of apple.
She paced, pranced, bolted, reared, zig-zagged...
Me, I just walked, cutting off the ring on her, keeping her attention on me.
Eventually, after much slap and tickle, she stood and let me scratch her withers, and up her mane. Then neck and ears. Casually, I hooked up a lead rope.
My rag had dried out some, so I recruited a friend to re-soak it for me.
Brigitte wasn't 100% sure about that rag.
But I took it slow and she did all right with it.
After I wiped her face and neck, we walked together a little and I scratched her withers some more. Then I released her.
She stood there a moment, peeking at me with one eye from under her mane.
Then, tossing her head like a California girl, she went about her business, munching hay.
I stepped out.
I guess we got to first base.
sj
4 comments:
Sweet! You sure can connect with horses.
Thanks, Lori.
But I think it's more the case that they recognize what a poor, clumsy two-legged I am, and they decide to help me out.
:)
sj
That was a good way to start to earn her trust. You have a kind way with horses.
Thanks. Nice of you to say.
It's just that I don't care to have the company of anyone who isn't there voluntarily, willingly, of their own free choice.
sj
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