What the horse told me

There was a little horse in a paddock in one of the places where I walk the dog. Just big enough to put her head over the fence to say hello. No simpering pet, she would show her teeth and whinny sometimes, and didn’t really like to be patted. She was more enthusiastic about little kids and some of the neighbours who fed her, than she was about me and the dog, but she would always come over to the fence to say hello to the dog and would usually give me a kiss.

The lady who owns the paddock told me she was training the little horse for a friend’s children to ride. One day the horse trotted over to the fence to show off her brand new, blue, horse rug, as proud as anything. Most of the time though, she had a big old horse rug. I think this was to get her used to having something on her back and flapping about.

She liked to come close to my face to smell my breath, and in her sweet horsey breath she told me secrets. Not the gossip and intrigue of human secrets. Horsey secrets of friendship and a full belly, of a reckless, edible life; the smell of blood, and the peace that often comes with it.

I miss the little horse since she’s been gone.