So, I had planned to blog about the Norfolk eagles. Their story is profoundly sad. Mom was killed by a plane on Tuesday, the babies were removed from the nest on Wednesday. Dad has got to be devastated. Biologists will tell you that animals don’t feel—and that’s just—hooey! Sure, he’ll carry on, he’ll survive – but he is changed. Now, I’ve read that the Norfolk Botanical Garden is considering mounting the mom. Really? The people who have watched that pair for ten years are likely not going to pay to see her dead. It makes me sad that the people in charge don’t get it. I was going to contrast their story to that of the eagles in Iowa.
I had planned an extended blog on that, but yeah, Saiga, my 29-year-old Arab gelding had other plans. I was leisurely drinking my coffee this morning, you know, it’s my day off—so I don’t have to be to work until four. JL walked out to take Ian to school and immediately came back in. “Saiga’s in the bottom.” he said. And then he left. JL, not the horse.
I thought, hmm, lots of deep plush grass there, he’ll be ok while JL takes Ian the six miles to school.
Twenty minutes later, no JL. So I got myself together to hike out and catch a horse. No halter, no lead; just me and the horse. I whistled and opened the gate blocking the lower, unfenced field.
Quinn ran across the yard squawking and puffing himself up. He must have heard something in my tone. He stopped, looked at me for a moment, then began pecking at some invisible bug, like that had been his plan all along. Right, Quinn, no one is buying that.
Saiga shook his head.
The cuffs of my jeans were soaking up the morning dew. I glared down the hill, “Saiga!” I whistled again.
He looked up at me with a, sort of, oh-shit look on his face and trotted up the hill. He glanced at me as if to say, “Was I not supposed to be down there?
Really, Saiga? You’ve lived here for nineteen years. Quinn crowed, probably relieved that I wasn’t particularly annoyed with him.
Saiga trotted by me; once on the right side of the fence he broke into a canter and slipped in the wet grass. I guess my jeans, now damp to the knee, couldn’t absorb all of the dew. He’s ok. He regained himself and trotted nonchalantly over to his grain and began munching away.
Jamie and I examined fence lines, a couple broken. So, he probably just walked right out. He could have jumped, he is only contained here because he wants to be.
While we had his attention, and he was feeling guilty, we pulled out the curry combs and began ridding him of the itchy winter coat. All of the birds in the neighborhood will have bedding for their nests for months! And we didn’t finish. He got bored, so we let him go.
He’s a good old horse, he meandered away. He ate the chicken’s corn and wandered under the lean-to for his morning nap.
I am getting ready to restart my day…Chiropractor, lunch with friends, work for about an hour, shopping, and then an evening of writing. For those of you who have been reading the essay I am working on, it will be done tomorrow morning.
Word Count: 569