Hobbles

Despite our dismal lack of rain, we've had enough to get the grass started on our hillsides.  Cornelius has his own five acre pasture pretty much nibbled down to the bare earth, so he stares longingly at the grass tempting him from the other side of the fence.  We have about 36 acres of hilly land, but only Corny's pasture is enclosed by horse-safe fencing -- the rest is either barbed wire, cattle fencing or nothing at all.

Yesterday Bruce and I worked on the raised beds for our new blackberry plants.  Corny hung out in his paddock, whinnying from time to let us know that he wasn't trying to bug us or anything, but did we realize that he was starving to death?  Eventually, this had the desired effect -- even a hard-hearted mommy like myself can only take so much.  So I rummaged through the tack room and came out with a pair of horse hobbles that have been sitting, gathering dust for a very long time.  I can't even remember the last time I used them.  I think I'd broken Corny to using them when he was a yearling, but that was many years ago. 

I led Corny out to the unfenced area that bounds our orchard garden and buckled on the hobbles even as he dove down and began ripping up great mouthfuls of grass.  I anxiously waited for him to take his first step and realize that his feet were chained together.  No reason to worry -- Corny tried to take a regular step, was brought up short, paused for a second, and then simply put down his head again and took another big chomp of grass.  If ever a creature was ruled by his stomach, that creature is my Cornelius. 

He quickly became quite adept at taking very careful, teeny tiny steps.  As we worked on bringing in compost to the new bed, Corny gradually munched his way down to the opening where Bruce was driving his tractor into the garden with loads of soil. 













Eventually, I looked up, and there was Corny in the garden with us, stuffing his face -- a very happy horse!