Well, my neighbor finally finished her horse “barn,” a small particle board contraption anchored by buried 4 x 4s, framed with 2 x 4s. So far so good—but what I thought was just the beginning of construction is actually the entire “barn.” More realistically, it’s a stall with three walls and a roof—just enough room to a horse to stand inside. Never will it keep out the elements, especially since we live up on the hills. She should try standing inside it herself on a windy day. One good snowstorm, and that silly thing will be waist deep in snow. What is she thinking? And what horse is going to voluntarily walk into such a blind structure?
We’re talking about a different horse now. Jackson disappeared one day. “He was too hard to handle,” she says of this gentle four year old, “So I sold him.” Well, her horse. The new horse is “Lucky,” a skittish twelve year old who screams a lot. “I couldn’t believe it!” my neighbor explained. “I saw this add in the paper, and sure enough, it was him!” She’s owned this horse before, when he was young. “We named him Rebel, but he took a long time to drop, so he earned the name ‘Lucky’ (i.e., he kept his testicles the longest). He doesn’t scream as often now. He is still skittish, but calmer. He comes to the fence and stands his distance—but I’m packin’ carrots, so he eventually gets close enough for treats.