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"Victorious Velvet"
Most make merry
resolutions
at the turn of New
Year’s course.
But, keeping promise
posed is harder
than breaking habits we
endorse.
This year, I thought I
would differ
from the times I tried
before.
I made a New Year’s
resolution
for my ‘favorite’
red horse.
This mare has been
around the block,
both neighborhood and
auction.
13.3 and mane flows
free,
her confirmation ever
steady.
She acts so subtle, oh,
so sweet,
when I’m around, or
first we meet.
Then, when trailer exits
drive,
she turns from Jeckle
into Hyde.
My son had ridden
Velvet, horse,
from toddler, through
aged adolescent.
The challenge found in
gaining ground:
She stood aloof,
omniscient.
With crop in hand, Trey
could demand
that ‘onward
charge’, up gradient.
But, drop the prod on
clay or clod
And Velvet chomped on
grass inducement.
This seemed her only bad
routine.
(All with brain have
some weird thing.)
We loaned her to a
friend of mine
who tried her for his
daughter.
He kept her for a
season’s time,
then gladly, he returned
her.
When asked about time
trial approach,
he changed the subject
to avert reproach.
Thinking all was without
worry,
time passed fast, while
owner curried.
Twice a day without
reprieve,
Velvet ran to eat sweet
feed.
The only time an ear was
pinned
was at horsefly, or
show-off spin.
Such a wonder, horse in
pasture,
such a pleasure, such a
treasure…
There came anew, another
buddy.
His need was for small
horse of ruddy.
While talking horse and
shooting breeze,
talk of Velvet came with
ease.
Why, this is horse that
raised my son.
This horse holds, when
others run.
Lift her feet and sight
her teeth;
Aged enough, and gentle
breed.
So given my advice on
mare,
he took her for a trial,
fair.
We talked of bit, Tom
Thumb, it’s called
and saddles, English,
Western, all.
She balked somewhat on
leaving farm,
but rest assured,
she’s gentle, warm.
I ran my fingers through
forelock,
rubbed her jowl and
sheared fetlock.
She needs shod but
smithy’s busy.
“That’s OK, mine won’t
raise hissy.
He likes to earn on mares that
stand
As Velvet stood in your sure
hands.”
So, off went girl to
girl of his;
We both thought the
world was bliss.
Then came the call from
wife of mine,
“Velvet’s home. She’s in
feed line.”
“But how?”
“Don’t know.”
“I’ll call this noon.
Hello, what happened and
why so soon?”
“It just didn’t work: that
mare with mine.
First kicks, then bites, then
laid supine,
those mares fought hard till
both were tired.
And even then, the two, though mired,
squealed till humans hid their
eyes.
I returned mare amidst wife
cries.”
Holding cell-phone, I
ran faster
through the gate and
into pasture.
Fear and folly carried
‘Corona’.
Thoughts of vets induced
trauma.
Approaching Velvet, I
slowed with caution.
She looked up with jaws
in motion.
Clenching grass from
favored spot,
red mare had no wound,
not dot!
Two months later at
trail ride,
I quizzed the daughter,
identified.
“How’s your mare? I
heard of plight.”
“Huh?” – (I knew problem
was insight.)
“Do you recall a mare
of red?”
“Oh yes, she ran from me and
Dad.
He chased her with a pail of
feed
and she raised tail while
feeling free.”
“Every time she stopped to graze,
she stood until the approach
phase.
Then off again she ran with
glee,
and Daddy spoke with words not
pleased.
He tried to gather, to grain
trust,
but, Velvet ran from both of
us.
Strange it seems, as I recall,
When loading trailer, she
didn’t stall.”
I asked my mare,
“Identify?
Tell me of the reason
why,
when others try to keep
you, leased one,
you act as mare in
fertile season.”
Her answer came with
horsey grin:
“I know a good thing when I
see one.
Two square meals and graze
between
I seldom shore a working
theme.”
“Spoiled I am at Walking T.
Spoiled I quite intend to be.
Queen of pasture, filled with
feed,
I’ll live a life of
luxury.”
But, (I reminded mare of
rights.)
“I ride bareback at
midnight.
Sometimes I’m in mood
of manly.
My weight must be
ghastly, ungainly.”
“All you need is hand of mane.
Not bit, nor girth, nor saddle
frame.”
“It’s true, but this
I do for fun.”
“Yes, but once a month is
none,
Compared to sequel of shouting
children.”
“But you, my dear, are
honest, proven.
Ne’er a time, have you
bucked master.
Even when I say, ‘Ride
Faster’.”
Argued we, till dusk had
traversed.
Would she keep her mind
aversed
to fortune’s moving
possibility,
the transferred ownership
of she?
Without ponder, Velvet
undaunted,
lowered head to grass
and flaunted:
“If I agreed to different
pasture,
Who would bribe your ego,
master?”
So reflect I must, and
wife agreed,
“This mare has smarts above
average steed.”
With brain the size of
ripened walnut,
Velvet deposed her
owner’s effort.
Likened to daughter of
monarchy,
this horse seized our
perpetuity.
A year past day, while I
reflect contention,
Velvet’s still here
through obstinate condition.
You may have met a mare
like mine,
with tongue that unties
hay bale twine.
A horse to challenge
intelligence,
but, one that stays
within the fence
of sacred trust between
owned and owner,
yet, straddles bounds of
thorn and clover.
Sometimes matches made
in heaven
Become burden, seventy
times seven!
C Taylor, Jr
01/03/2003
(Copyright applied for as part of a collection, hopefully
coming soon to your bookstore!) |