Smoke finally comes when I call him. I never thought he would do it, but he does.

See, I was just going to see what would happen when I clapped my hands and called him, whether he would look up and glare, or if he would just ignore me completely. Well, that wasn’t the case. As soon as I stepped out from the shadows and clapped, his head shot up and he lumbered over, stomach swinging as he paused to grab something to eat. Of course, I was imagining what was happening in my mind, as though he had miraculously learned human speech. It went something like:

“Becky! It’s been so long since I last saw you!”

“Hey Smokey! Who’s a good horse?”

“Me! Me! I’m a good horse! Let’s go somewhere! Pull on that halter! Hahaha!”

Of course, it was probably much more complicated than that:

“Becky, fetch me my grain bucket.”

“Hey Smokey! Who’s a good horse?”

“I don’t care who’s a ‘good horse,’ just- What is that?! Is that my- Oh, you are just begging me to hit you! How dare you bring that halter near me! Oh, why is it on?! Where do you think… Fine! Just for that, I’m taking Nugget’s stall!”

So off he goes, into his pasture mate’s stall. Now, Nugget is smart enough not to go into a stall occupied by the black giant, memories of a vet visit still fresh in her mind. So she goes off into Smoke’s stall. I can only stare, moan, and shut the stalls, trapping the occupants within. Smoke immediately starts his hunt for Nugget’s grain bucket.

……Fast forward about five hours.

Now, as a side note, I’ll have you know that Smoke hates messes caused by other horses. He will go five miles out of his way to avoid one. A very interesting horse he is. So yes, fast forward a few hours, to when we return to the barn.

Smoke is, naturally, overjoyed. His stall is in view, the pasture is in his mind, and he’s ready to take on the world. “Stall, stall, food, FOOD!” So, we march him to that stall, and then he stops dead. Nugget had been in that stall for maybe ten minutes, yet there were six messes. Smoke freezes, nostrils flaring.

“What did that stupid mare do to my stall?!”

“Ten minutes, six messes,” I observe calmly. “Possibly a record.”

“I’m going to bring her harm!”

“She’s faster than you, Smoke.”

“I’m smarter than her.. And you, for that matter.”

“That hurts, Smoke.”

We clean his stall, send him out, and watch as he goes to enlarge his already portly figure. Of course, I wonder what he really thinks.