- It’s Taco Tuesday!
- Taco Tuesday special report:
- Back in the day, I was a racehorse.
- To graze, or not to graze: that is the question
- It’s a miracle, I tell you, a miracle!
- The fine art of accepting treats from your human
- They called me the Cat Burglar
- Overall, the food here is very good.
- Inquiring minds want to know
- The new guy moves in
- Happy Vaccination Day
- Malfunctioning fly sheet edition
- The great escape
- Dog Days of Summer
- Down and Dirty
- The Quiet One
- Forest Monsters
- When the Farrier Comes
- Mealtime manner
- Happy Hour
- A day in the life.
- The Walking Wounded
- Ginger the racing pony
- Those Dangerous Cows and the Gate
- Drunken sailor and the pregnant lady
- How to eat hay 101
- Fly-free at last
- Body Work Edition
- Rainy days and dry stalls
- The dream galloping edition!
- Where did Mocha go?
You learn a lot about your barn mates at mealtime. I, of course, am a gentleman at all times (well, unless I have a Taco moment and then I get a little cray cray, but that doesn’t happen much at feed time).
In the morning I wait patiently at the stall door for breakfast. Of course, I look eager and when the Short One walks by, I do that sexy low whicker that drives the girls crazy. I am polite and eat my meal slowly and quietly like my momma taught me as a foal.
Mocha, my next-stall neighbor (who has the strangest whinny I have ever heard come out of an equine in my life), is a lot more vocal. He begins yelling, yes, YELLING for breakfast before the Short One even comes out of the house in the morning, and then when he sees her walking across the yard he yells even louder. It is just… well, a little embarrassing. He had a rough start in life, so I try to be understanding.
Then there is my good friend Oreo. He calls when he sees the Short One heading over from the house too, but it is more like a “good morning” greeting. He is a happy-go-lucky kind of guy around the barn. He does tend to get a little more frantic when he sees his grain bucket being carried down the barn aisle, and then his voice gets really high and he starts walking in circles around in his stall and tossing his head impatiently. He loves to eat, and let me tell you, you can hear him slurping all the way down on my end of the barn.
Ginger is much more reserved. She has a very low sexy voice. She doesn’t say a word until her food is almost to her stall door, but she does her best to dig a hole in the floor with her tiny hoof while she is waiting. She doesn’t get far, what with the rubber mats on the floor, but she gives it her best effort. She is another “fast eater.” Nothing lasts long if it is within Ginger’s reach. I have to share hay with her at night and it is like, “Geez, woman, slow down and enjoy it.” She just gobbles faster.