Notes from Maine - 2021/06/05
It’s a beautiful day here today. I have big plans to do outdoor chores until the bugs drive me back inside and then stay inside until the sun lures me back out. Finn, my English Mastiff friend, will undoubtably lounge on the back deck and Albert, the German Shepherd puppy, will alternate between following me around and playing with the water fountain my sister sent up. It’s the kind of water fountain where the dog steps on a hinged plate and then a column of water shoots up in the air. It took Albert about ten seconds to figure out how to use it. Finn loves playing with the hose or a sprinkler, but so far isn’t into the fountain.
When I put the horses out this morning, they turned back towards the barn and just stood there while I walked away. This is the first day I didn’t put out any hay for them to start their morning with. There’s enough grass. I think the luxury of morning hay can be put on pause for a few months. I believe they were offended that I didn’t give them anything to start with. Oh well.
Normally, this time of year, I’ll swap the horses from a day schedule to a night one. There are far fewer bugs at night. So, in the summer, I’ll typically put them inside during the heat of the day and let them graze all night. It might be tough with his pair. They’re very accustomed to their routine.
I used to have this fiery little paint horse named Rocky. He wasn’t afraid of anything except Christmas trees. You could hammer a board up in the barn, inches from his ears, and he wouldn’t even flinch. If anything came into his pasture, he would puff himself up and rush over to figure out if it was friend or foe. But there was something about a Christmas tree that freaked him out. If he saw one, he would turn and run straight through a fence. At a safe distance, he would snort and stomp until the offending tree went away.
When his companion died (a giant Belgian draft), Rocky stood with the body for quite a while. I think he was growing accustomed to the idea of being alone again. In the days that followed, he sprinted around his pasture, perhaps trying to get somewhere new. When asked, I tell people that I live alone, but that’s not true. I could never grow accustomed to that idea. These horses and dogs stop me from running through a fence and disappearing into the woods.
