Sandia's Foals, continued ...
When we unloaded the foals into Coquetta's pasture, she blew
softly into each foal's nostrils. The foals stretched their necks
and opened and closed their mouths as if they wanted to nurse.
This is how foals tell their elders "Don't beat me up, I'm
just a baby." Coquetta nuzzled each of them, then wheeled
and kicked. They fled a few yards, then turned and made more
"I'm a just a baby" mouthings.
A few hours later she began grooming the foals as if she were
their natural mother. She had kicked at them just to make sure
they respected her.
The foals sure didn't respect us. Foals often play by biting
and kicking. Mary had already warned us that Vashti, at only
two weeks of age, had thrown a kick that sent her to the emergency
room. Eleven stitches -- in the face. Since then no one had taught
either of them any better.
I told my daughters that whenever Vashti tried to bite or
kick one of us, we should bonk her right back. After a few bonks
she quit roughhousing with us.
Lightfoot was a harder case. After a few bonks he learned
to sneak up behind his victim, kick and gallop away before we
could hit back. When we got wise to him sneaking up, Lightfoot
discovered he could gallop by at top speed and lash out with
a hoof.
I went to another church member, Dave Jensen, for help.
Dave's hobby was training draft horses that everyone else
had given up upon. Serious, dangerous horses, as tall at the
withers as a football player, and weighing as much as a Volkswagen.
He gave me a trick to try on Lightfoot.
I went out into the pasture and walked around, la de da, la
de da, I'm sooo innocent… Sure enough, after a few minutes
Lightfoot looked up from grazing on the hill above me and leapt
into a full gallop.
As he thundered down at me, he must have been expecting my
usual hand waving and yelling to make him veer aside. Instead,
at the last moment, I whipped a bath towel out from behind my
back and threw it at him.
Yeow!!! Lightfoot jumped, whirled, and landed at a dead gallop
in the opposite direction. After 50 yards or so he slowed down
and dashed in circles, bucking and throwing fits.
He never charged a human again.
Lightfoot liked to lean on people. He'd lean on me a little
bit, then more, and finally enough to force me to move over.
I'd yell and hit and he'd back off, but then he'd try it again
the next day. And the next. Grrr. Dave told me that all I had
to do next time Lightfoot tried it was to put a judo move on
him and throw him to the ground. Yeah, right, easier said than
done.
More --->>
