Seems he still aint got the gist ‘f mares ‘n stallions, e’en ‘fter all these years. He seems to live in denial ‘f sorts that jest the close proximity ‘f a stud’ll put a mare into heat…
I’ve a red pup who’s the outdoor guardian ‘round here. He’s a purty handy fella ‘s he’s diff’rent barks fer diff’rent scenarios. A 2-legged bark means ya might wanna bring yer gun. A 4-legged bark means yer gonna prolly wanna grab gloves, halter ‘n ‘xtra lead rope’n yer way flyin’ out the door. The latter’f which was required this past Thursday ‘fternoon.
That four-legged bark...
He sounded the alarm ‘bout the time I seen mane flyin’ through the trees out back. Mr. Whiskey ‘twas racin’ ‘cross the pasture ‘t lightnin’ speed. That flaxen mane glistenin’ in the sun. Usually a beautiful sight to behold, ‘xcept that aint the section’f pasture he was ‘pposed to be. Mr. Whiskey’s a rather handsome mustang stud that lives here’t this place. Whilst he’s a thing fer blondes (I’ve 2 palomino mares ‘n fer whate’er reason, they seem to attract the attention ‘f the boys), Ms. Skyler (a rabicano paint mare) jest so happened to be in the corrals adjacent to where he was runnin’.
Nearly trippin’ down the porch stairs, I heard the screams ‘n shrill hollers from the pasture. No doubt that mare’s in heat. I cursed the hubs silently under my breath’s I made my way out back. By then, the other horses'd joined in with the hollerin'. 'twas quite the orchestra, though off-beat'n harmony. We're gonna need to work'n that.
Sur’nuf, both’d escaped – her through a fence. ‘n him? He’d taken out 2 panels ‘f his corral. I’ll put it politely, the two were ‘engaged’ when I reached that final gate. A sigh ‘f disgust – ‘t the hubs, not the horses – left my chest’s I hollered ‘t my boy.
Still seen's the leader'f the herd?
Fortunately, e’en with my extended absences due to health hiccups, I still appear to command a bit’f respect from my lil herd. He jumped down ‘n spun ‘round ‘n met me halfway to the gate. That look ‘f I’m sorry! written in those soft, brown eyes, his body covered in sweat. I took ‘im to his now disaster corral, with a very ticked off mare closely ‘hind. She was hollerin’ ‘n spittin’ ‘n buckin’ ‘n rearin’ like a gal truly gone mad. Yepperz, I’d done walked off’n took her fella with me. That lil mare ‘twas givin’ me the ‘what fer’ ‘n Mr. Whiskey jest paid ‘er no mind.
Mr. Whiskey was kind ‘nough to jest stand by my side through all her non-sense. Watchin’ intently ‘s I picked up corral panels, now with bent pens, ‘n hoisted ‘em upright. ‘course he would’a taken ‘em out where the mud was ‘bout 8” deep. I could feel that cold, soupy mess e’en through my boots. That imaginary line though, he somehow knew not to cross. ‘twas most patient ‘n calm through it all. I was quite proud’f ‘im.
Ms. Skyler, ‘n the other hand, t’weren’t so easy to convince. She got to run in the mud ‘n slosh through the now swamp to get back to her temporary humble abode. Continuin’ her antics fer a bit ‘fore settlin’ down.
‘n a positive note, I got quite the work-out ‘n a late 'fternoon mineral bath'n the pasture spa out back. The hubs got home from work ‘bout the time I was hosin’ off my boots ‘n jeans. He didn’t breathe a word…
What more could a simple gal like myself ask fer, eh? Ah, yes. Witnessin' the beauty 'f a sunset puts the world back't peace.