It was hot this day, over 95 on a north-eastern spring day was unusual, but the humidity climbing beyond that made it hot. I'd been limiting the stocks time on pasture anyway, weaning them into the new green grass, but knew today I'd pull the horse in earlier yet. I'd cleaned her stall first, then figured I'd get the sheep pen done and bring her in. Cutting loose a bale of oat straw, I scattered it around the pen giving a deep bed for the soon to be lambing ewes. I'd have some watchful nights there, two ewes were miniature Columbians who tend toward triplets and my big chocolate ewe was having her first. I didn't mind those barn nights though, having done enough mare watches over my years working other folks barns. There was always something peaceful about the noise and smell of a full barn at night that made me smile. I might even get lucky enough to find Shadow in the mood in the dark of the barn office. I looked over at her with the thought, sleek black body laying in the shade of the manure spreader while she chewed on a piece of hoof from yesterdays trimming. Romantic the sight was not, yet I still felt my jeans tighten for her.

Her daddy, Rags, was with the sheep as he always was while they were pastured. A whistle from me would have him rounding them in and bringing them to the barn. Looking out below the low shed roof, I could see him standing near Belle, the big boss ewe, watching the other four graze. A runt of a Border Collie, Rags was 20 pounds of alert protector for the sheep, as he was for his blind daughter. Finished with the straw, and with the hay racks loaded, I called him with a sharp "whee". Belles head jerked up just as his did, and she trotted toward me bleating. Rags, his feathered legs catching a slight breeze, circled the other ewes and slowly pushed them down the green plot. With only a few light barks for a lagging ewe, the handsome little dog drove the woolies home and stood to my leg for a rewarding head tussle when I closed the gate behind them. Happy, he barked once and ran in to the box stall part of the barn for a drink. A "Cluck cluck" of my tongue caught Shadows attention, and she stood, stretching and shaking that sinuous body before ambling slowly toward my voice. I took them to the office, not more'n a converted box stall, and closed the half door behind them. "Stay here and be good," I ordered, and headed for the back pasture to get the mare.

I passed the small shed where "Bubba", the tri-colored Ram, had his own paddock. He lay in the shade of the shed ruminating hay. Seeing me, he blatted then turned his attention back to the alfalfa mix. I continued along the dusty path as it curved around the old weathered red milk-house and over a slight rise to the back pasture. Ten acres of fenced greenery, with a couple of large old maples here and there for shade, was the bulk of my holding now, though there was a time years back when 40 more were in hay or pasture, and I ran an average 15 head here. Those were Tippy's days, and much had changed since then. I leaned on the rail fence, burnin' tobacco while my mind burned with her for a bit. I was pulled from the reverie by a whinny and saw the mare trotting toward me from over the hill.

12 hands of drafty bay, she trotted awkwardly toward the fence. I'd only had her a month, and what she had before me was less than she deserved. I'd been called by a friend wanting to know if I'd take in a rescue, and met him at a dirt hobby farm where hay was scarcer than feed, and feed was near unknown. The local SPCA had taken over 40 animals from here, everything from malnourished dogs to mange-ridden goats. This all on less than 3 acres of hard pack dirt and only one 10 by 20 shed for cover. The mare, tied to the center pole of this rotting structure, stood on rockers that had her weight on the cannon bone rather than the hoof. Her only companions I saw were some rats braving the light of day scurrying around the ankle deep manure she waded in. She was a scrubby looking bay, with a bloated belly and thin ribs and hips. I didn't give much hope for her, but moved in closer slowly to give her my scent. I spoke to her, softly and not really sayin' much, and let her touch me first. That proved to be a shrill whinnied, bare toothed nip at my leather coat. That initial fear bite done, I softly moved a hand to her chest, talking soothingly the whole time. Another whinny, less harsh, as she pulled her head away as far as the rope would let her. It took an hour to calm her enough to put hands on her, and even longer to get her out of the barn. Loading her proved the worst though, taking a toll on me and the trailer, and in the end backing her up the ramp did the trick. She fought at home too, unloading being another nightmare, but stood tied to the trailer once off and let me run hands over her back and down each leg. She was wormy, the belly told me, and malnourished, and her hooves scared even me though I'm a competent farrier for the most part. But, there was a fire in her soft brown eye, and her fight proved a spirit lingered. Over the past month I'd wormed her, had a better farrier than I start cutting back the skis she stood on, and slowly improved her diet. She had sores on her poll and jaws from a too small halter that I'd been treating too, and could now wear a correct halter. Yesterday, the SPCA had been out and approved her new home, and though still head shy and unsure a month later she trotted to me like a friend.

I dipped between the fence rails and let her greet me with a gentle nudge of her big head. Carefully, I eased my hands from her chest up along her lower jaw till she let me snap the lead onto her new halter, then walked her toward the gate. She still pulled some, but with gentle pressure and soft words would come along easier than she had. Reaching the barn, I tied her to the post outside her stall. Shadow whined from the office on hearing me, but Rags, as if he understood this new addition was unsure of dogs, stayed silent. The mare, who I'd been calling "Lucky", was sweat covered from her time in the sun, and I started with a rough towel, drying her off. I was impressed with how soon she was letting me touch her underside as I cleaned between her stiff, taut teats. Reaching her neck though, she still shied her head some. A brushing and slicking followed with-out much difficulty, and I moved on to combing her thick mane and tail. I'd no real reason besides familiarity, but ran a hand down each leg and attempted to raise each hoof. She was doing better, as two of the four came off the floor. Finished grooming for now, I moved again to her tail. She had an abcess at the root of the tail, on the underside, and the Vet had me treating it with scarlet oil each day. I started with a wet cloth, cleaning the whole tail stump and the anus and vulva. She shied some, but endured it. When I reached her plump, dark vulva though I noticed she winked. I passed over it again, momentarily fascinated, then Shadow whined again. I swear that bitch could read my mind! I finished doctoring her tail, and carefully let her into her stall. I then freed the dogs, blushing as I tussled Shadows long-furred ears with the memory of Luckys vulva flashing again in my mind. Shadow darted ahead of me, tail up exposing her own full vulva bouncing, and washed the horses from my head. I wanted to grab her and satisfy us both, but there was still work to do, and instead I helped her onto the toolbox platform of the tractor and climbed up myself. Rags ran beside us as we headed out to spread manure, barking happily, as Shadow curled into a sleeping pose to enjoy the ride. I let myself day-dream about nights with her, and fantasies of a winking mare...

She came to me tail high and waggin'...

The artist formerly known as "Silverwolf"

Shadow & Tippys' Mate