Skip to main content

A Different Horse

Caleb

     Caleb had an owner already, but she was very sick and had been for a long time.  She had not played with him in years.  Wanting him to belong to an actively caring owner, she offered him to my instructor.  My instructor turned her down (she didn't need any more horses at the moment), but he was much on my instructor's mind.  I began hearing more stories about Caleb's previous life.  She said he had some trust issues.
     One time he was tied in a stall when somebody unexpectedly started a tractor right behind him.  Caleb panicked, struggled, and fell down in his stall, hitting his head on the concrete hard enough to knock him unconscious.  His owner thought he was dead.  Caleb probably thought the tractor snuck up behind him, roared, and hit him in the head.  Needless to say, he was a little afraid of tractors.
     Caleb was also scared of fly spray.  One time, his caring owner glared at him and sprayed him in the face with chemical fly spray, with no warning.  That's scary to a horse.  Of course, the owner's actions were not intended to be scary.  She was so frustrated with mean horse flies who were attacking her beautiful Caleb.  There were flies on his face and she reacted, spraying them angrily.  But how would he know that?  Sometimes "trauma" comes from well-meaning people.
     I started making a point to give him a quick pat or call a friendly greeting to him when I went out into the field.  Sometimes I stopped to pick a brier out of his mane.  He appreciated that.  My heart went out to him.  Even though he was well cared for, there wasn't a person playing with him, and he obviously wanted to be played with.
     He was very different than WhiteStar.  What he liked and disliked, his view of the world, his opinions -- these were all very different from WhiteStar's or Selah's.  By this time, I knew what made WhiteStar happy or unhappy.  I could pretty much tell what she was thinking.  But Caleb was different.  He was his own horse.  It was kind of neat for me to see that not all horses were exactly like my WhiteStar.
     As my heart went out to him more and more, he came to me more and more.  The idea of playing with him continued to roll around in my head.  I hadn't talked to my instructor about it yet, so all of my friendly game in the field felt a little covert.
     One day, when I went to get WhiteStar from the field, Caleb followed, nearly making a nuisance of himself, although I couldn't help but notice he was in perfect stick-to-me position.  I wished I could reward him for his attentiveness by playing with him longer, but I was there for WhiteStar.  So I went on my business, and he followed me to get WhiteStar and to bring her back to the arena.
     When I finished playing with WhiteStar, Caleb met me at the gate again.  I gave him a quick pet, swatted some flies, and left.
     It was time to talk to my instructor.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

More Snippets from Snow White Rose Red

    One of the shadows moved.   “Were you just going to chuck it in there with no thought for the poor folks on the other side?”   Flip’s voice drawled out.   It was a deep voice and it made my heart skip a beat.      He moved away from the trees and came to stand in front of me.   “Some hard-working fellow is plowing his field and then – whop!   Out of nowhere, a poisoned apple flies out and hits him upside the head.”   He clucked his tongue reproachfully.

A Short Story Break

via Pinterest     It has been a while since I penned a short story.  Usually it takes something like a "short story contest" to inspire me.  But I have noticed my writing skills improve with each contest so there is something to be said for writing short stories.      I say all this to lead into the fact that I am going to try another short story.  There is no contest looming on the horizon, but it has been so long that I think I am due to write a short piece.  Life cannot be entirely devoted to novel-length plots...      I am rolling around different ideas in my head.  There is no one to give me the first three words or a picture to base my story on.  There are no restrictions, no props, and no judges.      Methinks I will try something that is both epic and ordinary...something I have seen before.  After all, personal experience, great things, and the expression of the ordinary are part of what makes a story. 

The Countdown: Eight Days

Eight days.  Do you know what that means?  Barely over a week.  Tomorrow will be one week from the announcement date. Are you excited? I am. So, today, I want to talk to those who wrote something for the contest, whether or not you entered it in the end. What made you start writing your story?  What was the first inkling of an idea that tickled your brain?  What was it that you liked about your premise?  As you wrote, did you have a favorite character or a favorite scene?  And are you glad you wrote it down?  Do you feel like you learned and grew in your ability as a writer as you tried out things for this contest? And, if your story isn't included in this year's Rooglewood anthology (either because you didn't submit it or because it didn't fit with the other four stories selected), what will you do with it?  Will you market it elsewhere?  Or will you lock it away in a drawer?