It was an early spring morning. The ground was still sprinkled with patches of snow. Birds chirping, sun shining. Neighbors out on the porch enjoying their coffee. I was enjoying my shower and on part two of the lather-rinse-repeat cycle when a loud banging on the door interrupted the peace. “She got out! She got out and she’s running through the yard!”
The “she” my mother was referring to was the twelve year old palomino who lived in my backyard. Normally, I would refer to her as my best friend. Others might refer to her as a horse. But today, she deserved no such name. Today, she interrupted my shower.
I threw a towel and my head and put my bathrobe on, not knowing that she no longer was in the yard and actually preferred a morning jaunt through the neighborhood. Had I known this, different attire would have been chosen. Our neighbors sat in their porch swing, sipping their coffee as a yellow horse ran by followed closely by a girl in a head towel, who was incessantly clicking and holding a hand full of apple treats in front of her.
The morning rendezvous finally halted in front of the horses down the street, who seemed quite content to eat breakfast in their fenced-in pen. She whinnied and squealed at them to make sure they were aware of the long journey she had taken to come say hi. They returned the gesture in time for me to catch up and entice her with the apple treats I was carrying.
I put her halter on and together, we paraded back through the neighborhood to our home. Me, with my bath robe & towel and her with her treats & pride. She nickered at her friends as if to say, “See you next week!”. The girl had become an expert at escaping and if I didn’t know any better, I would think she had grown thumbs and was picking locks. It wasn’t long until we switched out the latch on the gate for one that couldn’t be hacked by a horse genius. And in case you’re wondering, no, the neighbors did not offer to help. Why help when entertainment is being given free of charge?
This is the tale of the hoofed escape artist.