Daisy, Shaun and I walk the short hill to the winter paddock. We startle a heron on the way past the lake.
We chat and hike. It’s warm. Sunny. Strangely spring-like. Daisy calls Murphy, and he begins to walk down the hill to greet us, stopping after a few steps. Somewhat reluctant. Daisy hikes up and halters him, leading him down. When he gets to us, we mob him, and he perks right up. Hugs! Kisses! Brushing! Neck rubs!
Then we had a little matter of “What is this Leading thing of which you speak? Leading? I don’t understand “leading”.
But he was incredibly polite about it. He didn’t fight. I put my hand on his butt. Daisy gave another tug and release. Murphy instantly remembered “leading”.
Ah, the more difficult part of horse ownership. Leading balk? That means the lovely play time ends, and we go for a walk around the property, outside the paddock. It was beautiful! (And my hand pushed on his butt a lot.)
Our boy is 8 months old. Do you believe it?
I could not seem to get a decent picture of him, no matter how hard I tried. I was stuck in “frame every photo badly”. The hazy sky made for flat, low light, with little contrast. Except for the dumb photographer, this would be an okay-ish photo. Can anyone spot the problem?
You saw it! Most horses DO have hooves.
Murphy wasn’t feeling the photo shoot either:
Oh no…sudden lack of affinity for the camera…could we be seeing glimpses of the teen to come? So uncool of me to photograph him.