Just Friends

Jimmy and I are friends.
Not partners or close comrades, but more than just casual acquaintances.
His piebald face is smudged with black just under his nose, placing him high in any Charlie Chaplin look-alike contest. He’s a strong, stout pony. Probably over-worked in his past. Some giddy teen-aged girl who said she loved him, when what she really meant was that she loved what he did for her.
He’s paddock-mate to my partner, Kelsey, flea-bitten grey Arab. Kelsey with ears ever perked, eyes ever bright, as if amused by some private joke. The Errol Flynn of horses.
Errol Flynn and Charlie Chaplin.
I'm out-classed.

Decided to groom Jimmy the other day, but he wasn’t interested in being haltered.
The following day, he need spring vaccinations, and refused my halter then, too.
The barn boss finally managed to get him into a halter using a combination of grain and guile.
But that’s no way for a pony to be...

When I finished working with Kelsey today I turned him over to M for a long, leisurely grooming – good therapy for both of them. I went out to visit Jimmy.
He was still stand-offish.
I moved around him, flanking him, looking for an approach, but he was wary and I don’t much believe in playing “chase the horsie.”
So I yielded away from him a few yards and took a knee, studying the ground with sudden interest.
He looked me with his head cocked like the RCA Victor dog.
I peeked up, kissed to him, then went back to memorizing dirt.
When he looked at me with only one eye, I’d kiss to him again until he gave me both eyes, then went back to the dirt.
Did this a while. Don’t know how many times.
After a time he crossed about half way over to me.
I turned my back to him, sat down, looked the other way, gazing over at the palamino mares grooming each other.
Don’t know how long it was…
I became aware of his breathing not far from my ear.
I peered suspiciously back at him, and asked what he wanted.
He didn’t specify.
I offered him a sniff of my hand; he accepted and bumped it with his nose.

Slowly, I got to my knees, moving away from him, and he moved in to keep the distance.
I gave him my hand.
Standing now, I turned away from him again and took a step.
He followed and nudged my hand.
I moved away another step.
He followed and I gave him my hand.
We did this a while.
I let him chase me around the paddock one step at a time.
At some point, instead of moving off, I lingered, lightly finger-grooming his nose, chin, cheek.
He sighed and worked his mouth a little, lowered his head slightly.
We stood in that spot and I spent the next half hour or so grooming him with my bare hands, finding little spots he particularly liked: just in front of his ears, the hollows above his eyes, down his neck and chest. Inside his ears, too, where bugs had bitten. He stretched his neck, rolled his head – just about purred, I worked over all of him, mane to tail, and he just stood, apparently enjoying it.
So did I.

When time started up again and I had to go on to do chores, he followed right after me. I paused once more to give him some neck strokes, went out and brought him back some carrot pieces.
Then I went about my business and so did he.

I don’t know what he’d have to say about it.
But personally, it made me feel good whole the rest of the day.



sj