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What it’s like owning a delicate flower

6 March 2015 Comments

Fin is a Texan through and through. If he were a person, the mere rumor of temperatures dropping below 50 degrees would send him running to the store in a panic, where he would buy bread, milk, butter, a 10-pound bag or Oreos, all the buttered popcorn everywherez, and nachos.

Then he would run back home and burrow into his bed and refuse to come out until Spring.

As it is, he gets a blanket thrown on him and a total lack of sympathy about having to deal with cold mud.

I don’t remember him being this much of a wimp last year, so I was a little slow to catch on this year and he dropped a little too much weight. Consequently, in addition to blanketing him at temperatures that I wouldn’t normally dream of blanketing a non-clipped horse, I’ve been bringing him to the barn in the evenings and giving him extra hay and grain.

This is how Fin discovered stalls. Actually, I’m sure he was stalled before. This is how he was reminded that they still exist and sometimes they are for him.

Fin loves stalls. Fin thinks stalls are the bomb. Fin thinks that being kicked back outside after spending an hour in a stall is cruelty to horses. Or to him, anyway.

Given all of that, after I brought him in and fed him his extra hay/grain, and groomed a few horses while he leisurely chomped on the hay and kept coming over to the door to see what I was doing, and didn’t I want to groom him instead?, I decided to throw an extra blanket on him for tonight.

Because he is a delicate flower, and a hard freeze is a distinct possibility. If he wilts when the temperatures hit 40, he’ll probably implode when it drops below freezing.

I threw the second blanket on his back, and he pulled it off.

I threw it back on and tried to explain that he was going back outside and he should trust me on wanting the extra blanket. I started fastening the front straps.

He gave me a disbelieving look, like he couldn’t believe I’d contemplate putting him back outside. Then he turned his attention to the straps and started trying to unfasten them. You pull this strap here, right? This one that your hand is on? You’re doing it wrong. You’re buckling it up and you need to take it off. Just let me do it. Srsly. Let go. I got this.

Some five minutes later the blanket was finally on, despite all his “help.”

Then I put his halter on, and he gave me the most disgusted look he could possibly manage. He balked at the idea of leaving the stall, and the entire walk back to his field he kept nudging my elbow and then swinging his head around to look longingly at the barn. In case I had, you know, not realized that he wanted to spend the night inside and not go back out.

I can’t wait until warmer weather gets here and we can dispense with the blankets altogether. Although it may not solve his love affair with stalls; I bet he knows about fans, too.

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