My
horse Ōhiʻa was an orphan. They grafted him onto his half-sister’s dam,
but I contend that having to compete made him just the tiniest bit
neurotic. He is a tail chewer – not his
own tail, but any pasture mate has to keep their hind end away from his mouth
to avoid a haircut. He is a weaver, but
only if you are late with dinner (very bad habit, I know). He stands with his tongue sticking out of the
side of his mouth, which is intensely goofy on a horse. And any time I give him attention, he tries
to give me some back.
Horses
will often scratch each other with their cheek bones or even their teeth. You’ll see a couple of horse standing nose to
arse with their heads on each other’s backs.
They are helping each other stay fly free – if my head is on your back –
the flies can’t land on you, and your tail swishes the flies from my face (and
vice versa).
Well,
when Ōhiʻa decides one good back scratch
deserves another, he just about bowls me over.
He puts his head over my shoulder and attempts to scratch away. He really gets into to it, too, putting some
of that weaving action into it. I figure
he is expressing his affection for his human mom, so I brace myself and bear
with it while vigorously scratching his neck and back.
Elvis
is just as pushy, but he tends to just tilt his head up, press as close as he
can through bars (I have learned my lesson with the ram and don’t go in
anywhere without something between us), and half close his eyes to better
concentrate on the chin scratches.
The
ewes and wethers are a bit more reticent, but once they realize there is no
wormer, syringe, or clippers in evidence, they press in for their chin
scratches. They are so noisy. The only
one not hollering away is the one currently getting his/her affection for the
day.
Crazy
Horse Gib needs sneaking up on. You need
to walk in, not looking at him, pretending that you are working on something
else. Then you can slowly reach your
hand out to his neck and give him a quick pat.
If he is in the right mood, and if you make a big enough fuss over Ōhiʻa, you will sometimes feel his
nose make a quick poke at your back, which means if you are slow and measured
in your movement, you can approach him and give him a good dose of
affection. He is so nuts, he’ll forget
tomorrow what you did today, but at least you did it. Poor horse.
Nani,
the defective cat, will not cuddle (hence the defective label) but she will
deign to let you pet her under the hanging laundry, but only if you have to
stretch your arms to get her, and only if you then let her roll over and
pretend disembowel you with her hind legs.
I am sorry, Eldest Daughter, but your cat really, truly is
defective.
The
budgie gets his love in the form of me singing to him in the morning and making
inane bird whistles at him. I wonder
what I am saying, because he is sure intent on answering back.