*That’ll* Never Happen Again

SERIOUSLY So I got to the yard early, as I am now wont to do on a Tuesday. It’s [whispers] summer, and who wants to be anywhere else when the sun is shining on a Tuesday night a week before the solstice?

I ask you.

When I went to say hello to Rebel, I noticed that there was a small jar of Sudocreme on his bedding. Just sitting there. I didn’t trust Rebel not to figure out how to open the jar, and eat the creme — he’s clever enough — so I went it and took it out of his way.

Then when I went to say ‘howaya’ to Amigo, I noticed that someone had left their jumper in his stall! I mean, WTF? So I went in there to get rid of that, except that it wasn’t a jumper, it was a pile of poo.

The sense of touch — some fantastic thing, isn’t it? And the way the fingertips communicate with the brain! It’s feckin’ instantaneous! And the way I go to pick up a jumper: I just use my thumb and first two fingers. I don’t, like, grab it with my whole hand. Which is a good thing, because that first sensation of… soft and gooey made me SNATCH back my hand like I’d touched something hot… or like I’d just touched A PILE OF POO.

And the thing with vision, and the way that in the shadowy stable, my brain initially decided that this dark, foldy looking shape was an article of clothing rather than a deposit of shit. Amazing!

And then the thing of LOOKING AT MY FINGERS. I immediately looked at my fingers — gloved! Whew! — and, yup, that is definitely manure. I knew by touch, but I also had to look at it. So many senses involved in this discovery! Except that the auld nose seemed to have been snoozing.

I don’t know if he’s a ‘doer’ but Amigo is a prodigious ‘pooer’ — he’s been known to dump over a jump — and now I realise he’s rather creative with it, too. Sculptural, I daresay.

I always enter a horse’s home with caution, but now there’ll be a little extra prudence involved.