The Horse (Blogophilia 52.16)

Recently, I was looking at a horse trainer’s Facebook page where all the King’s horses were being put through their paces. It got me thinking about something that happened when I was about six or seven years old. We lived in a subdivision and beyond our street were mostly small horse farms, with a few cows interspersed here and there. There was a creek and an abandoned rock quarry.  In other words, lots of places for a kid to get lost in and have adventures.   

One morning during the Spring, my mother was cleaning up the kitchen after everyone had left the house. Given there were four kids and a husband, this was not a small task. I was home sick from school, so she had me to deal with, too. She was also seriously hungover, but that seemed to make the time go faster for her. 

She was finishing up the sink when the phone rings. With a cuss, she snarches the receiver off the wall. It was the next door neighbor, Mrs. Rowan.

"Teeny!” My mom had always been called that because she was 4’ 11” and 90 pounds soaking wet. ”Have you looked outside your living room window?"

"No, Betty. I've been busy cleaning up from my herd of pigs and Chrissie is sick on the sofa.  What's wrong?"

"There’s a horse in your flower bed and she’s hungry."

With that, Mom drops the phone, gets a broom, and goes flying out the garage door. There was a bay mare comfortably grazing at the top of our retaining wall. Watching from the front door, It looked huge. It had been raining the day before, so everywhere the horse had been was a trampled mass of orange and purple petals mixed with fresh fertilizer. I began giggling.

Mom comes up swinging the broom. It nickered and went back to work. This pasture was tasty and she wasn't going to leave a perfectly good meal just because some Munchkin said so. It was a sight to behold. 

Mrs. Rowan had come out to "help". She was the type that liked watching people who were in a little bit of trouble and sort of tried to solve the problem. One got on one side and the other got on the other to try to shove the animal into the driveway, but it wasn't about to move. I was laughing

After a few minutes of this, Mrs. Rowan finally asked "Where do you think he came from?"

An old truck drove up, pulling a dilapidated trailer.  An older fellow and what appeared to be his son got out and started calling for the horse. The mare began to shy away like it knew it was in trouble. They slipped an old rope halter around its neck and tried to pull it toward the trailer.  The horse wasn't having any of it.  It dug in its heels and pulled back, whinnying in protest. Finally, the son slipped up behind it and whacked it with a piece of board and it walked haltingly to the loading ramp.

When it was all over, the old man explained he owned one of the farms down at the bottom of the hill.  The mare and another horse had busted a fence that ran along the creek.The other horse hadn't gotten that far, but this one had followed the creek for more than 1/2 mile and decided our house was as good a place to take a break as any.   He apologized for the mess and trundled back home, not offering to pay for the flowers.

Mom came on back down the driveway, cussing up a storm. She stopped when she saw me and asked: "What are you laughing at?"

My eyes got wide and I said "Nothing, Ma'am." I knew if I said anything else, there was a switch in my future.

"Good, and it better stay that way."

And we went in to enjoy the silence.