Bucking Broncette

Raven is a typical hypersensitive thoroughbred, both physically and emotionally. The feeling of bugs against her thin skin drives her crazy whereas Tonka barely makes the effort to flinch them off. The memory of something scary in one corner of the pasture will keep her away for weeks whereas Tonka will go anywhere that the grass looks tasty. One nice thing about owning such a drama queen is that I never have to make assumptions about where her head is at -- she communicates her feelings loud and clear.

This morning it was wet and buggy in the pasture and Raven desperately wanted back into the paddock because she is a spoiled princess. When I made it clear that I was leaving alone via the human gate (yielding to her royal whims is not my style) she tried to run right over me. I was taken off guard because she hasn't pulled a stunt like that in months, but I managed to defend myself by digging the four fingers of my right hand into the groove of her throat just above the chest. Hard. With a mighty squeal she went broncing off across the pasture (without kicking out at me -- that lesson has been learned) with Tonka in tow. They were still rodeoing around by the time I got into the house, though poor Tonka was beginning to look sore and worn out from all the unnecessary effort. In all they provided five solid minutes of entertainment for us and our house guests, including the two-year-old Martina who kept repeating "poor Raven" to anyone who would listen. No wonder the Black Wench of the West likes that kid.

Mostly I think that Raven was blowing off steam. I haven't been on her since we've been home because the weather has been so foul, and she has been spending a lot of time huddled miserably under a tree in the paddock. Let's all hope for a little sun this weekend.