“You’re looking for a fight but don’t even know what you’re fighting,” I say.
The horse stops short and looks at me head-on, blowing hard. It punches through the silent morning like a warning shot.
“Yeah, you’re angry, alright. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Years ago, I’d have hopped into the pen with a saddle and risked far more than justmylife strapping it on him and forcing myself onto his back. Shit like that was expected around here but has long since ended.
This horse doesn’t need another reason to hate people. He’s got a million already from what I can see. I don’t know where he got those scars on his back, and I don’t need to to recognize that going at this horse head-on is going to get me a rib in my throat.
Rushing this one isn’t going to work.
“You’re going to be stuck in this pen until you calm down. Can’t risk you getting on top of one of the kids mucking the stalls. Until you relax, this is your home,” I tell him, letting my voice become one he’ll learn to recognize.
He moves again, continuing his pacing along the back of the pen. The sun is crawling higher into the sky, hitting his face and matted black mane. He’s filthy, covered in dust and dirt and whatever else from where he came from. I’d guess his shoes are going to need to be replaced too, though he’ll never let a farrier near them.
This horse has been neglected worse than I thought at first glance. His aggression has kept him from damn near everything.
Pushing off the fence, I head for the stable. It’s too early for the wranglers to be up, let alone the new kids staying here for the summer. I tug open the heavy door and step inside, my sights set on the feed room. The hay needs restocking, so I add it to my list of shit to tell Otis and carry an armful to the round pen.
I get back and hover by the gate. Tossing one flake of hay over the edge, I watch it fall to the dirt a few feet from me. The horsestartles, his shoulder twitching before he starts to circle, acting like I’ve just dropped a snake in his pen.
“It’s not poisoned,” I grunt.
The horse takes a cautious few steps toward the offering, tail swishing once. I keep still, waiting for him to decide whether or not I can be trusted with this.
Diesel would have been snout-deep in the hay already, snorting at me for taking so long to feed his greedy ass. Even when I first found him, he’d been that way. Despite all the other issues he had, trusting me wasn’t one of them. Unlike this bastard.
Stepping back, I eye the empty silver tub by the stable. He’ll probably avoid water more than the hay, but he’s gotta drink something. I don’t trust that he’s had either in a while, at least.
I leave him to figure out if he’s hungry enough to risk taking food from me and drop the rest of it by the stable before filling the tub with the hose. Once it’s halfway full, I leave the hose on the dirt and heave the tub over to the pen. My boots scuff the ground when I find him chomping on the hay.
Angry, but not stupid, then.
His chewing slows when he notices me coming back, but I keep my eyes forward, ignoring him as best I can while carrying the tub. He doesn’t lurch backward, but I don’t hear him eating anymore either. I stop further down the fence and lower the tub to the dirt. Then, I shove it beneath the bottom slat and leave it, the water still sloshing.
He huffs again, turning from the hay to the bucket.
“Also not poison,” I tell him, backing up.
I don’t wait for him to come toward it before leaving. If he wouldn’t eat with me there, he won’t drink the water either. And I don’t trust that he won’t kick the entire thing over just to be an asshole.
The pile of hay is still by the stable, so I grab it and bring it to the pen. I drop a few more flakes of it over the railing, making sure not to give him all of it. The last thing we need is him being territorial over a king pile of food too.
I bring the rest of it through the stable and to Diesel’s stall. He’s already shoving his nose against the grates above the half-wall, snorting at me when I reach him. The difference between him and the horse outside is staggering this morning.
“No need to be jealous,” I mutter, opening the gate and stepping inside the stall.
He takes the hay directly from my arms, chomping on it like he’s been starved for a week rather than a few hours. I struggle not to laugh, this horse more like family than any of the people I know.
Once he’s done eating, I give him a few nose rubs and back out of the stall. “They’ll saddle you up soon. Try not to bite anyone today.”
He looks down at the ground once I’m back in the aisle, nosing the fallen pieces of hay he dropped. I shake my head and give the gate a smack before leaving. His tack is hung properly from when it was taken off yesterday. Could be cleaned, though.
By the time I’m back at the pen, the black horse is drinking the water. It’s damn near gone already, so I grab the hose and bring it back over to the tub. He backs up immediately, ears flicking before disappearing into his messy mane. I step back with the hose, bringing it away from him.
His ears go back up, though not all the way.
No hoses, then.
