The Right Story

I tend to twist up my body something fierce while trying to turn Mo. My shoulders do odd things and whatever the heck it is I’m doing just doesn’t work. The other day, Leah tried another comparison, this time with playing “Chicken” in the swimming pool. You know, how you’re up on someone’s shoulders, trying to get them to go towards your opponent, but sometimes you lean way over the side — and you make your person lean way over too and then you fall off. In the water, yes, but you fall off.

I’ve got a ways to go on making this idea of playing Chicken work, but it was a small “ah” moment. Not “eureka” or even enlightenment, just “ah” and then I was able to move my body in just the right way and good old Mo moved. No pretzel body, no yanked head (his, not mine), it just . . .worked. Ah.

Mo’s pal Buddy

When I take Mo out of his stall, his neighbor, Buddy, complains. The poor little pony squeals and carries on as we leave, and squeals and carries on when we come back. It seems that if I call out to him, “Hey Buddy! Don’t worry! Mo’s having a lesson!” or “Hey Buddy! Don’t worry! We’re on the way!” he calms down a bit. I guess he’s learned the sound of my voice and knows that it means things are OK Mo-wise, that he’s not loosing his friend, and that he’ll get a treat because he bunks next to Mo. They get scared, I think. Leah told me that Mo was depressed after his previous roomy was taken away and never came back and maybe Buddy would do the same if Mo never came back. Ugh. Sometimes all I think about is the end of things and how sad it is that the horse companions will die some day.

Scratching Mo’s head

Sometimes, when I’m early, I just stand in the stall with Mo and rub his head, between the ears. He doesn’t do anything except blink and I take the blink as a sign of relaxation. It’s nice to just stand there with him, both of us breathing, me rubbing his head, him blinking and standing still.  Quiet old horse (sometimes).