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Just recovered from a sore off-fore
He attacked the grain and rich alfalfa hay
And now he had disgraced himself in his stall,
His insides water and splattered around the walls.
Haltered, I led him to the washing bay
To wash him, dry him, groom him, lovingly
And carefully to pick out that recently sore off-fore.
I wanted him to feel good, not as a pet
But companion, partner, friend when suddenly
He broke the cross-ties and bolted back to the stall
-Something he had never done before –
Dragging me with him catastrophically
Into the fouled dirt and sawdust on the floor.
He hid head-first in the corner away from the door
Lower lip a-quiver. Of course I let
Him alone and did not force him. I had tried
And he’d said no: no grooming; no riding; not today.
After he settled I turned him out. He
Moped through the gate – then turned and fixed his eye
On mine. A glint, an unmistakable glint
In that eye: bright and hard like flint;
Kindly yet cold. And then with head held high
He reared and kicked and all but bolted away!
I got the message, watching from the side,
Watching him run with the herd and not with me.
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