The other day I was driving to the barn, listening to Madonna's latest concert CD. It's a country drive, the route to the barn, past farms and McMansion developments. I know all the places where I'll see horses, and I always look for them, whether I know I'm doing it or not. The way you did when you were in high school, dating a boy who drove a blue Camaro. Suddenly, it seemed those cars were everywhere.
When I happened upon these guys, my heart paused for just a second. Right?
This recently-turned-out threesome hangs out in a pasture so remote, all I can see in the distance is the lane back to whatever barn they belong to. I pulled a U-turn on the two-lane and stopped on the shoulder. Through the lens of my camera, and with a silly sense of relief, I caught the flicking ear of the chestnut in the foreground.
The complete abandonment with which they slept, the nearness they kept to one another. The simplicity of their own lives, apart from us.
Last Saturday, we turned Dar out one more time with the Keely monster. Really, my heart was in my throat, choking at the thought it might go badly or that, once again, he would climb aboard her. What if, and then what? I didn't have an answer, and I knew it.
We all stood and watched them. Scout was agitated, trotting back and forth along her paddock fence, fretting for Keely. We'd turned Dar and Keely out at the edge of the big pasture, opening the wide gate from paddock 3 to give them room to run. There, we waited for an explosion that never came. A squeal or two, some posturing and ear pinning. Eventually, Keely wandered back into the paddock. Dar, still out in the pasture, lifted his head and trotted in. He wanted to herd Keely away from the horses watching from the other paddocks. He was moving too fast, though, and wiped out, losing his footing in the snow and thudding suddenly, perfectly and safely, to his knees. I couldn't have asked for a better reality check. Surprised and chastened, he scrambled to his feet and walked slowly behind Keely. Inside of 20 minutes, they were eating hay side by side. I needed the sense of relief so much that when it came, it only filled the void created by my anxiety. Sometimes that kind of relief can feel like elation; this time, it only brought me back to level. That's how wrapped up I was in the question of whether I've got a jerk boy or a doofus boy.
Sunday night the Saints played a truly great game to win the Superbowl. That was elation. By then, I'd already heard that Dar made it through another day of turnout with Keely. If I am arriving at an understanding of Dar by defining what he is not, then one possibility has been crossed off the list. No, he's not a total asshole in turnout who should remain in solitary confinement.
Who, me?
Meanwhile, Dar has languished in the background, pushed aside by Scout. After a month at the farm, he's 50 pounds from goal weight, parasite-free, and vital with unreleased energy. There wasn't the time to introduce him to a paddock buddy once Scout was injured, so he stayed in paddock 3 by himself, next to the other horses, but separate. Finally, last weekend, we decided to try turning him out with Keely. She's the only one bitchy and tough enough to teach him herd manners. The others are too old, too small, or too new to pair with him.
Disaster, I guess. A month of accumulating energy made Dar over-excited and idiotic. I'd only known him to be a low-ranking lackey in his previous herds, but that belly full of parasites might have kept him depressed. Suddenly, va-voom. A steppy, arched-necked fool trotted into the paddock, displaying dominance and spirit. All the horses keyed up instantly, not least of whom, Scout. Dar trotted right up to her window bars. Scout spun and pinned her ears. She bared her teeth. Dar didn't back down, he just kept close. Enough of that, E decided, and we moved Dar into paddock 2, alone with Keely, who seems to be in an eternal heat. It makes her even more crabby. Kick his ass, I thought. Let him have it.
Everyone was watching, waiting on some kind of a drama. Dar and Keely ran in circles. Then they went to separate hay piles. Ran some more. Ate a bit more hay. I began to relax, just a breath or two. Then, catastrophe. Dar mounted Keely. E ran to them, shouting his name. He came down as quickly as he went up, and his useless schlong never appeared, but... This. Is. Not. Good. My heart sank. Baseline zero, the testosterone test had reported. Before I got him, someone mentioned he might be "proud cut." I went right for the test. It was going to be the deal breaker for me, proof of a studdy gelding. But, Testosterone, 0 +/- 5%. I was elated when that result came over the fax.
Fuck. What now?
This recently-turned-out threesome hangs out in a pasture so remote, all I can see in the distance is the lane back to whatever barn they belong to. I pulled a U-turn on the two-lane and stopped on the shoulder. Through the lens of my camera, and with a silly sense of relief, I caught the flicking ear of the chestnut in the foreground.
