The great thing about a 15.1 hand (61 inches at the shoulder) black horse is that they don’t have many problems with hunters. Indeed, if a hunter were to somehow find himself staring at a large black figure in the distance, he would not be compelled to fire. After all, deer are a chestnut color, correct?

Correct. Which means that Smoke is safe from hunters. On the other hand, his pasture mate, Miss Nugget, is not. Nugget is a delicate chestnut colored horse, with white stockings and a white blaze running from her forehead to her muzzle. A very beautiful horse, and energetic as well, being around the age of twelve. The problem that arises from this is that she could be easily mistaken for a deer at a distance. This is why we have to braid their manes and tails. By braiding orange tape into Nugget’s mane and tail, as well as tying tape onto her halter and outfitting her with a blaze orange vest, we are protecting her from harm. But there is a catch, as there always is with horses.

The day before the youth hunting day, I went to the barn to “decorate” the horses. Smoke was an easy keeper, loving attention and wanting you to groom him for as long as posible, so long as you kept a steady supply of carrots coming. I braided his mane with some difficulty, for his lovely personality was at its best. I was aware that reaching up and braiding his mane while his head was raised about two feet above my own would be a very difficult and tiring thing, so I went to get the mounting block. I felt that my plan was a smart one, and would save me a lot of grief, but I was wrong. Smoke seemed to think that the block was hiding some great rattlesnake, and would back away a few feet. Ever persistent, I followed him, picking up the mounting block and setting it beside him. He returned to his former standing space, and I was forced to follow him again. And again. And again.

I gave up on the mounting block.

Smoke had finally settled himself, lowering his head to simply one foot above my head, which was, of course, better than the prior two feet that he had taunted me with. We were working now. I got the brush, grabbed the orange tape, found some braiding bands and set to work. Not.

Smoke, seeing the brush and realizing that I planned to make him colorful (and, in his mind, a target for the bears), began to back away once more.

“What are you doing, Smoke?” I asked, voice tinged with annoyance, and I could have sworn he answered me.

“You’re gonna have to work for this one, Beck.”

I could have killed him. For the next twenty minutes, I was chasing him in the five-foot space in which he could back up or move forward, take two steps to the right or two to the left. He was aggravating me, and he knew it. The joyful twitching of his ears showed it.

Finally, after much arguing and sweat, he decided to calm down. I jumped right in and began to braid. He acted completely innocent, never moving, and occasionally twitching as though trying to get rid of an annoying bug (guess who), and finally, I got to his tail, standing slightly to the side so as not to get kicked. He scratched at the ground with his hind leg a few times, but other than that, nothing happened.

I knew that the next thing I had to do was to cover Nugget with bright orange, and I began to unhook Smoke. Then I stopped. Smoke, though brutal to the little mare, was her best friend. She would follow him anywhere. Especially out of the barn, where she was currently pacing back and forth in her stall, not wanting to be there, but not wanting her friend to go away. I went and hooked her in her stall, and then let Smoke out.

“No!” I could almost hear her screams of anger, and quickly brought her from her stall, though it was a challenge. I grabbed her halter and pulled. She braced her legs. I moved to her side and tapped her. She twitched and snorted. I retied her in her stall. She neighed. I grabbed a lead and hooked her. She followed.

I finally put her on the cross ties in the barn aisle, and began to brush out her mane. She was constantly twitching, as though great beasts were about to hack away at her, and I sighed. Her personality was completely different from Smoke’s. He was mischievous. She was shy. He was lazy. She was ready to run if you looked at her the wrong way. He was arrogant. She was like a delicate little princess. They were both homely, but Nugget was like the sibling that was scared of everything, and refused to touch anything that might have germs. Of course, she was only 14.3 hands (57 inches), so it was easier to work with her. Four inches makes a lot of difference.

Her mane was far easier to braid than Smoke’s, since it didn’t have a fraction of the amount that Smoke had. Of course, hers also tangled when the wind blew, unlike the hair of the beast.

“That hurts!” I could hear her scream, and my face took on a confused expression.

“But I never touched you…”

“It hurts!”

And so I would continue, braiding the bright orange into her mane and then moving onto her tail. She clamped her tail down tightly, refusing to cooperate as I attempted to braid, and then her ears pinned back. I took two steps away, moving up towards her head, and thinking about what could have gone wrong. Then it came to me.

“You think I’m trying to attack you, you little brat!”

“I am innocent!”

The next twenty minutes of the tail braiding process were accompanied by my saying the words, “Left, right, left, right,” over and over and over again. She looked pleased by my effort, knowing that it was simply a human behind her, and not the big green beast from down the street. Of course, I was braiding at an awkward angle, so parts of her tail stuck out in odd places. Oh well.

Once finished, I went into the tack room, looking around for a bright orange vest. After checking under a couple blankets, I pulled it out and dusted it off. The perfect size for the little princess. I snapped it on her, and you could tell that she was raising her head with pride. Or maybe it was excitement. After all, she could finally ditch the human. I released her back into the wild, a.k.a. the pasture, and watched her run wild and free, orange tape trailing behind her, and her tailing slanted awkwardly to the left. She was proud. And as Smoke reached over the fence and snapped at her, I imagine that she was overjoyed, even though she was shrieking and fleeing. After all, she had her friend back.