A Funny Little Story

Wednesday began beautifully, an early trip to bring Chad back from Sparrow after his successful surgery the day before. It was a great morning, and in early afternoon the sun broke from the clouds to warm the outside air and begin drying muddy pastures. Eager to enjoy the unusually warm March weather, my steps were light as I went to my horse tack stored in the trailer, grabbed Cinder’s halter and lead, and headed to where she stood in the center paddock. 

She always lets me approach, but I’ve noticed lately when I have the halter she isn’t as bright eyed and excited. I want her to come to me, for it to be a mutual connection, so I took my time, allowing her to walk her one or two steps before moving around her shoulder and urging her to draw to me. For awhile, Cinder stood at the back fence, calm, yet not ready to commit. Rather than rush her, I released a sigh, breathed away any negativity, and stood beside her watching the back fields together. 

All was calm until her inquisitive nature kicked into play. Every muscle inside my body clenched in horror as her soft muzzle reached toward the top wire that ran above the fencing: the hot wire, the one charged with quite a kick of electricity. Not wanting to scare her, but also not wanting her to bite into voltage, I warned in my deepest, loudest whisper version of hollering, “Cinder, NO! Do NOT grab that with your mouth!” I swear she gave me side eye as her lips closed around it. I waited, fearing the aftermath, but nothing happened. Clearly, there was trouble somewhere in my fence line that would need attention. After my near heart attack, Cinder moved toward me, and off we went to play and work together in the drive where the mud wasn’t a hindrance. 

Covered in muddy shedded chestnut hairs an hour later, I led her back to the pasture where she promptly rolled in the mud. For the next hour or so, I worked on clearing the fence line, cutting and snipping overgrowth, untangling the hot wire where it had drooped onto the wire perimeter fencing. I smiled contentedly as the reassuring click, click of the charger began immediately upon being plugged in once again. Before moving inside, I called a warning to Cinder not to play with the fence again, certain she would hear the pulsing charge without my words.

When I came home from book club that night, I made my way out for evening scratches and horsey hugs. Cinder galloped up to see me, and I know my grin was ridiculous; but when I rubbed her neck she was hot, her chest and shoulders wavy with sweat. Immediately, my hands roamed my Mustang, checking for signs of distress, swelling, images of colic and death making my stomach clutch. While I was calling a friend for advice, Cinder was busy trying to get into my pocket where the peppermint flavored treats are held. I walked to the barn for hay, and she followed as the phone rang. She followed me back as I carried the hay near the garage door, just to keep her close in case things went as badly as my imagination was leading. After all, this is my life, so…Yay, Chad’s surgery went better than expected…So, in return…your horse is dead. 

I know, but that’s how my mind works!

While I described the situation to my friend, Cinder rubbed her head on my shoulder, itching her sweaty forehead and poll on my no longer freshly washed flannel. It was hard for my friend to hear as Cinder rolled happily, as she crunched hay, and blew out with noisy abandon. “She’s eating?” My friend asked. “Yup. But, she’s clearly hot, like foamy sweat on her butt cheeks hot.” We laughed. I agreed she was probably fine, mentioning I would double check her in another hour or so. 

As I walked to the gate, Cinder trotted behind, head shaking playfully. Closing the gate, I walked toward the garage, catching her in my periphery as she bolted away. The thought occurred to me that she had hit the fence, and then I could see the whole thing…Cinder, rolling her eyes at my earlier warning, grabbing the wire once again, but this time…yikes, this time it bit. I imagined her charging around the pastures, galloping through one gate and the next, down the back hill and around to the front, all while shaking her tangled mane indignantly. 

Upon my return an hour later, she was cool, her sweaty curls dried and stiff, and she eagerly checked my treat pocket for goodies while munching her hay. 

All was well in the world as the miraculous day wrapped up: healthy husband, happy horse, and a gorgeous sunset in the Western horizon.