runaway horse, two

“Sunny!” I yell as he runs through the wind-opened gate into the wide open space beneath the trees.

My mind immediately throws up horrific images of him smashed by a camper van on the busy road a few hundred yards away, or running wild through the state park never to be seen again, attacked by bobcats or pumas. While I run for the halter, Allie runs through the gate, too.

“Allie!”

These are not my horses. And they are not obeying vocal commands. I quickly realize that there’s no way I can catch a horse that doesn’t want to be caught, let alone two. I am not a rodeo cowgirl with roping skills. I am a writer.

Food. I drop the halters and drag their big green food bin out of the corral, wrest open the container with the senior feed pellets and scoop it into the bin. The noise gets their attention. I scoop another quart of food into the bin and they both trot toward me and begin eating. Another scoop in, then I drag the bin back into the corral, horses following, noses down in the bin, both chewing and walking. I haul it in far enough so that everyone clears the gate, which they are no longer interested in. Drop the bin. Walk calmly out of the corral and secure the gate with the rusty chain.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I am trembling from adrenaline. And no longer interested in separating them as I usually do, so they can each eat to their heart’s content. I lean against the shed and breathe. Look at the blue sky, the pine trees whipping around in the wind. The ocean’s about a mile away. The sun broke the eastern horizon about 30 minutes ago. The air is fresh and moist from the rain the night before. Buzzards cruise high in the sky, looking for breakfast. Not here, not today.

The flagstone path down to the spigot is uneven, sometimes the circular steps tilt one way or the other. Carefully, I make my way down, turn on the water, round the corner, and grab a few flakes of alfalfa from the trailer.

I set up two feed stations for Sunny and Allie in the corral, and check the water tub. Secure the gate with both chains –yes!– then place the halters on their hooks and close up the shed. Step down the tilty path to turn off the water. Then walk through the manure field to get to the sandy path that takes me to the ocean.

Once I am clear of the ranch property, I exhale, loud and long. Holy Macaroni! Milagro! This was a mild lesson in horse care. A mild lesson! No one was hurt, not one single body. Disaster averted! Always check the gates!

(This is the second time Sunny’s run away from me. The first time was back in August, and I wrote about that too: https://prime53.wordpress.com/2016/08/31/runaway/)

I thank God all the way down the dune to the ocean, then sing to and praise the ocean, stretching up high to release my fear-contracted muscles. Thank you, God! I hear you!

The chill wind sneaks under my fleece and into my Levi’s. One more round of hallelujahs, then I slowly make my way up the dune back to my apartment. It’s 9 o’clock in the morning. I am worn out.

Horsepainter Elizabeth Shé feeds her canvas, Magic. Photo by James Dickens 2016
Horsepainter Elizabeth Shé feeds her canvas, Magic. Photo by James Dickens 2016

 

 

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