Standing by the Fence

STANDING BY THE FENCE
July 18, 2006

I stood by the fence on the corner
and got nipped, rubbed, and begged
of by a little dun gelding I call Gavin.
I also stood by a fence that was
part of a stall and got lipped,
head-bobbed, and eye-rolled
by the bay gelding that lives alone
in the stall at Des’ place. I stood
by yet another fence where
Flossie and Bambi paddock together
and got sniffed, licked, nose-investigated,
nibbled, and blown in the ear. Like
the sweet white middle in an Oreo
cookie I stood in the dust between
the two mares. One pair of legs in
Baxter riding boots surrounded by
eight very dark equine cannons,
winter mint to the touch, and dust resistant.
I rested my chin on my arms as I
leaned against the top rail and let the
two detectives have their way with me
either nose to hair, nose to nose,
nose to hand/arm/elbow/wrist,
or nose to any other part of me
they took a collective fancy to.
At one point, like a magician, I pulled
out a bottle full of water and let the
two nose it to death. Bambi opened
her lips while I poured it in. Flossie
just sipped from the steady trickle I let
pour out by a tilt of my wrist. The
water fed the dry earth that spat
up dust when it hit the ground and the
dark liquid spot began to spread
between the long hairs I had pulled
earlier out of Flossie’s mane and
let drop. I loved the mighty power
of their muzzles and noses as I felt it
via their shoves and bumps through
the bottle. I giggled like a child
as they toyed with the object and I
wondered what other oddities I could
bring from home to amuse them with
in the future. Later, the noise of an earth
digger drifted across the distance, as I stood
dreaming with one hand on Flossie’s hip,
fingers ploughing through her winter coat
in four neat, even furrows.