Feb 5 09 Part Two: Sherman

Went to the barn last night and found, as I had expected, the horses had been in all day. The wind chill never got above 4 degrees, so BO left them in, and I don't blame her. Horses were happy enough; they'd all been munching & drinking and having a quiet day indoors. They were ready for dinner, however, so on with the feeding.

Threw them hay and water, then moved & stacked a dozen bales in the center barn. (The hay is stored in the mow above the main barn, but we pull down 20 bales at a time and stack them in the two primary barns for easy feeding. About six stack in the aisle of the main barn, and 12-15 in the center barn, and they get fed out from there.) Then threw the horses their "grain" which, in our case, is really just a pelleted vitamin/mineral concentrate. Morgans don't need much more than hay and a vitamin balancer-- any more calories and sugar than that, and they get fat & develop foot problems. Due to their lack of need for caloric input, they're called "air ferns" in the horse world.

So, fed the pellets, topped off water buckets and closed up the barns for the night. My three guys (Roux, Celby, and Sherm) are all on the outside of the third barn, a shedrow setup where they can see out their stalls to the pastures. It's a bit breezier out there for the people, but inside the stalls, the horses are as tucked in as anyone else, and they get a view of the world, not of the walls, so I love having them there.

Roux was polite, but more interested in her hay than me. Celby wasn't even polite; he just wanted to eat. But Sherm was delighted to have company. He'd probably gotten bored during the day and was looking for anything to do, anyone to talk to, so he hung his head out and visited with me rather than finishing his dinner. He knew it'd be there for him.

I fell in love with Sherman about three weeks after he was born in 2007. He was a gorgeous baby, and athletic almost from the start, so he's a fine piece of horseflesh to begin with. But what really won me over about him was his personality. I'd never really thought about it much before, but he showed me that horses come born with personalities. His was so different from the foal born the week before him, and pretty different from the two born the year before him.

From the outset, he was inquisitive and brave. He'd wander acres away from his mother, even at just weeks old. His curiosity and sense of independence attracted my attention, and his bold, fearlessness really impressed me. He'd engage with other horses, the cows on the next farm, the farm cats and dogs, people, trees-- everything was of interest to him, and nothing struck him as a threat.

I'm not like that. I'm suspicious of everything, and cautious about it all. It impressed me mightily that this little young thing was so eager to engage and unafraid.

He would, of course, run back to his mom if another horse was mean to him, or if something seemed too big for his little britches to manage, and for regular drinks of mother's milk, but his behavior from the outset said to the world, "Hello, I'm Sherman. Isn't it all great!?"

And he's still like that. Turned out in pasture, he will spend hours at a time away from the other horses in the herd, doing his own thing. He doesn't even look up to see what they're doing; he's in his own little world. Very unusual for a horse; they're very herd-oriented animals. And then, suddenly, he'll come racing up to another horse and pounce in her face, as if to say, "HEY! Let's play!" And if they want to play, that's great; if not, he'll go entertain himself some other way. It's all good in Sherman's eyes.

So last night, he wanted to visit with me.

Sherman has had a breakout of "juvenile warts"-- it's a symptom of a virus all young horses catch and develop immunity to between age 1.5 and 3. Some get warts, some get terrible cases (like teenage acne pizza face horrors), and some don't get any warts at all. Sherm has one by his eye, and one on his lip. They look sort of like beauty marks-- little white spots in his black and chocolate-brown face. If that's all he gets, that'd be great, but I'm prepared for more. BO is calling him "Wart" or "Hogwart" this week. Sherm gets lots of nicknames....

But anyway, he hung out over his stall door and asked me to rub his face, which has some scratches and ruffed-up fur, which indicates to me that it's been itchy and he's tried to scratch it on the rough surfaces inside his stall. He was in heaven to have a soft hand, with just enough fingernail to get the good spots, rub all over his face and ears...oooh, yeah...the ears...oh, right there....mmmm...yes..oh, that feels good. He tipped his head this way and that to reach the good spots, and rolled his eyes and curled his lip when we'd found them. He was quite delightful.

And when my fingers got cold or my arms got tired, and I stopped the scratching, he just stood there and looked at me with his deep, soulful eyes. Just stood and looked. Didn't beg for more, didn't ignore me and go back to his meal, didn't bang the stall door to get more attention. He just stood and looked deep into my eyes, all the way to my heart where he saw his own reflection looking back. And he said it's all good; I love you, Mom.

And I said, yeah, Sherm, it is all good; I love you, too.

And though it was 12 degrees, and -3 in the wind, we were both right. It is all good.