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I pretended to be hanging around, no big deal, while Martin and I watched the movie he was playing for me.

I watched as they led that dancey black horse back to his stall.  Everything was luxurious and everyone, deferential.  People parted to make way for the horse.  Hell, animals parted to make way for the horse.  There went a barn cat, gray, like a shot.  Other horses moved aside as he passed.  A dog gave him a wide berth.  Dancey tossed his head.

Dancey was wiped and he was massaged.  Offered a buffet of morsels to suit his palate.  Servants hovered anxiously to make sure he ate.  His stall was huge.   Someone sat with him in the night, for the love of God.  There was a general atmosphere of anxiety around him and it had to do with his value and his high and glorious master.

I sighed.  It was all very Henry the VIII, really.   I looked at Martin.  He was intent, drilling it in so I wouldn’t miss it.

“Okay, I see,” I told him.  “You weren’t just special, were you?  You were really, really special.  That must have been great.”  Molly had wandered up, all, what are you guys doing? Then she saw the picture of Dancey in his stall.

I heard Molly think, oh, that. “He can’t get it back,” she told me.  “He doesn’t know why.”

I turned to Martin.  “Look,” I said, indicating Dancey.  “You know that’s not now, right?”   I’m special, he told me.   He showed me the black horse once again.  That’s me.

“I see that,” I told him.  “Martin, this farm isn’t that kind of place.  Here, all the animals are special and everyone is loved.”  He was quiet.

“Hey,” I said,  “I have an idea.”

Next Up:  Animal Communication and the Draft Horse, Part III

 



 

 

 

 

 

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