The Talking Horse

No, not Mr. Ed. Mr. Champagne.

And okay, not talking per se, but very plain communication.

I rode outside Saturday. It was a lovely brisk afternoon, and the footing was for the most part icy/muddy/bare ground. The conversation went like this:

Me: Let’s go down onto the grassy areas.

Champagne: Okay, but that’s a change in routine and I want to be sure it smells safe. (Rattles his nose.)

Me: You’ll be okay, we’ve been here before. No monsters.

C: Hey! HEY! You said no monsters, but I know that path leads to COWS. Cows are not okay!

Me: No, no, I won’t ask you to look at cows today.

C: Well, then if you’re sure . . .

Me: I am sure. Please walk on.

C: Are you watching out? There is that low lying woodland! There is an ice patch! I could sink in too much to this plowed field!

Me: I am watching out. You’re fine.

C: And a stone wall . . . .

Me: Just go through.

C: It might be dangerous.

Me: Just go through.

C: Oh no! Now we’re in a NEW PLACE! Oh no!

Me: Yes, you’re okay, keep walking.

C: Now we’re too, too far from the barn and besides! There is a frightful WOOD PILE! I am really sure you aren’t being careful enough. We better go back! I really have to stop!

Me: No, you have to walk on. (But thinking inside that we’ll turn around soon.)

C: How far? Because there is a WOOD PILE!

Me: Just a little more.

C: If I go sideways maybe it won’t be able to see me.

Me: You do need to walk on.

C: (Walking on) Yikes! Yikes! Yikes!

Me: You’re a good boy, and we can turn around now.

C: So can I eat grass?