Notes from Maine - 2022/08/07

The Wet Bandit has struck again.

Last summer, on a cool evening, I was filling the water buckets in the barn with the hose. Outside, in the darkness, I could hear monsters roaming. The horses were trudging around, desperate to be let inside so they could eat their dinner. Every minute or so, the pacing stopped.

I heard scraping on the door. An image jumped into my head. Big Earl was back there, chewing on the barn door in an attempt to eat his way inside. It’s hard to guess at a horse’s thought process. It’s entirely possible that he was so hungry (and dumb) that he figured the whole barn must be made of hay and grain. 

I yelled for him to quit. The noise stopped.

A minute later, after the sound of more pacing, I heard the scraping again.

I yelled again.

This wasn’t the first night that a horse had nibbled at the barn. I knew there were gouges in the paint from previous fits of impatience. 

So, the third time, I called a warning. “Quit it, or you’ll be sorry.”

When I heard the noise resume, I didn’t hesitate. I turned on the hose and slipped it through the narrow gap between the door and the frame. I heard galloping hooves and I smiled. When I was done setting out dinner, I opened the door to let in Earl and Maybelle, expecting him to be sheepish and drenched.

I was wrong. Earl trotted in with his head high, dry as a bone. Maybelle came in a moment later, cutting her eyes from side to side. She was soaked. She had always been so trustworthy and upstanding. I never expected to find that she was the one chewing on the door. That night, I dubbed her the Wet Bandit.

This morning, the Wet Bandit struck again. 

(Trigger warning — I’m going to be discussing horse fluids.)

The horses are separated right now. For about five days out of twenty-one, Maybelle is pretty desperate to become a mother again. During that time, I keep the horses apart. I want to take some time off before deciding if they should be parents again. This morning, as I was putting Earl inside, Maybelle was pretty keen on demonstrating to him that she was ready to be a mother. The communication happens through posture, vocalizations, and scents. These scents are transmitted via urine. 

In her haste to lure Earl, she soaked her tail.

When I went to put her outside, something caused her to flick her tail. Maybe it was a fly, or maybe she still holds a grudge against me from last summer. Whatever the reason, when she flicked her tail it hit me like a wet mop. 

For a full minute, I could only stand there, looking down at my defiled shorts and t-shirt. My mouth was still open in disgust when the tail hit me a second time. I’m pretty sure the second time was on purpose. 

I still had chores to do. 

After being victimized by the Wet Bandit, I was shadowed closely by Earl as I did my barn chores. He was suddenly fascinated by the new “perfume” I was wearing. He snorted every time he sniffed my shirt, adding a topcoat of horse snot to what I was already drenched in. 

After the laundry is finished, I think I’ll take yet another shower. I still feel gross.

That’s my Sunday so far.