I like my horses fairly hot and fire-breathing. Not the dirty, rank, I’m-going-to-dump-you-in-the-dirt-and-run-away-cackling hot and fire-breathing. More, the kind that finding the “Off” button takes a few years. So it’s no surprise that my horses are not meek and mild-mannered in the stable.
Billy, my old guy (who’s not at home; he’s being leased out and lives with his lessee at her beautiful Middleburg farm) was the original goofball. After grooming, but before you put his saddle on, he’ll sometimes stick his tongue out of one side of his mouth. He’s looking for someone to pull on it. Seriously. He also makes this lovely, low, come-hither whicker when you scratch him between his front legs, but if you push too hard, he squeals like a 2-year-old filly. And he likes to sit on things. The blanket bars on stall fronts are usually the perfect height for him to swing one cheek over when in the crossties.
Cleo is the most laid-back under saddle, but she is a big Alpha female and wants to make sure you know it. The undeniable Queen of the Farm, Cleo is not shy about making her demands known. If you stand in front of her stall, she will come over and lean against the stall bars, demanding that you scratch her neck (right side, along the jugular groove, thank you very much). If you stop, she stomps and leans against the stall bars harder, and she will make some very unladylike faces.
Under saddle, when she gets really peeved, she’ll kick out with her hind leg so hard you can hear the sinews snap as they straighten. Yikes. Fortunately, she’s also a very good girl, keen to please (most of the time). She also does this neato cat-stretch thing in the mornings that is totally incredible; nothing that big and muscular should be that limber.
Ella’s my insecure teenage girl, the one in the back of French class that takes all honors and AP classes and is a world-class violinist, but reads a lot of Silvia Plath and chews on her own hair.
When she gets stressed out in-hand or in her stall, she sticks her tongue out and chews on it. Not very demure. We hung a Jolly Ball in her stall a few months ago, hoping she’d play with it; instead, she sits on it and thoroughly enjoys the noise it makes when it re-inflates (although the first time she heard it, I thought she was going to leap into Loudon County).
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Of all of them, Midge is both the biggest charmer and the biggest wimp. He’s the dressage equivalent of a dirty stopper—when he sees something he doesn’t like, he hits the brakes like a freight train into a mountainside. Backing him was pretty amusing—it’s a good thing he’s got a big, upright, cart-horse neck, or I’d have gone over the top of him a few times!
I’ve got it mostly dealt with under saddle, but he still likes to walk behind me when I lead him around, which is pretty pathetic of him. In the barn, though, he’s hysterical. He has a Jolly Ball too, and during meal times he attacks it, grabbing it between his teeth and shaking it like a dog. But during the day, he snuggles up between the wall and the ball, letting the ball rest on his shoulder or even on his back like a saddle. He’s even been known to close his eyes and cuddle it.
And he knows precisely how cute he is. When I take off his halter to bridle him, he puts his head in my armpit or nuzzles my neck so I’ll cuddle with him instead of tacking him up. He’s a vicious pawer, and he will beat the bajeezus out of his stall door if he thinks we’re late feeding him (which, of course, we ALWAYS are), but then he wears this adorable ears-up, bright-eyed expression when you come over to yell at him. Who, me?
Midge’s best trick – he gives hugs on command. Dorky, but adorable. Adorkable!
