He breathed deeply. “Twelve horses and just two of us.”
“They’re not going to break out of their stalls and attack us, Ricky.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s not what horses do. Come on. I’ll introduce you to a few.”
In the first stall was an old mare, quiet, calm and patient. She came to us, and I reached up to pet her.
“Be careful,” Ricky said.
“Don’t worry. This is Betsy. She’s been at Barry Park for ages, even when I lived here. As sweet as can be.”
“Still, you never know.”
I tugged on his arm. “Come stand here so she can see you properly. You never want to sneak up on a horse. Let her know you’re there. Talk to her.”
“Here horsey,” he whispered.
Laughing, I took his hand and brought it up to Betsy’s muzzle.
“Are you nuts?”he said, whipping his hand out of mine.
I once again brought his hand up. “Trust me.” I forced his hand to her muzzle. “There. That’s not so bad.”
A tentative smile came to his lips. “It’s soft. I always thought that horsehair was so coarse and rough.”
“The mane and tail are thick and coarse, but her coat is soft. The muzzle is especially soft.”
I released his hand, and as he continued to pet Betsy’s soft coat, I reached into the nearby bin and scooped up a handful of sweetened oats.
“Here,” I said. “Give me your hand.”
He held his hand out and I turned it palm up.
“Hold your hand open and flat.” I poured the oats onto his palm.
“Oh boy,” he said, pulling in an uncertain breath.
Nonetheless, he allowed me to push his hand under Betsy’s eager muzzle. She quickly but gently accepted the treat.
Ricky laughed, much as a boy would. “It tickles.”
“I think you’ve won her over,” I said.
He looked at me, a spark in his eye. “And I think that you’ve won me over.”
