Essays of an Equestrian

I have come to believe that there is an invisible vortex in every pasture my horse inhabits. It’s a gateway to another dimension  which comes and goes mysteriously. When its portal opens it will suck up a horse, simultaneously stopping time for a moment. After annihilating whatever the horse is wearing the horse passes back through the portal, none the worse for wear.

This other dimension is filled with single bell boots, twisted shoes, bits of halter leather, and the tattered shreds of what once was a sheet or blanket. Just like some people attract paranormal activity my horse attracts this pasture vortex.

There is no escape from the vortex. Resistance is futile.

It was Christmas Eve and I had just presented my horse with his treasured gift. It was a new winter blanket colored in bright pink and blue plaid. It was beautiful. I recall lovingly placing the blanket upon him and smoothing it gently as I admired the hot colors. Surely this was the prettiest blanket I had ever seen.

I kissed his forehead and put him back in the stall with a nice pile of fresh hay. The next day was Christmas so the horses would stay in and not be turned out until the day after. The morning after Christmas was cool and breezy and the horses were especially fresh when they were finally turned out.

It was that morning that a vortex struck.

A few hours later we heard a commotion in the pasture and went to look. The scene was one that I had never before seen nor dreamed of seeing. The thirty acre pasture had somehow managed to have white polyfill fluffs dispersed everywhere as if it there had been a winter’s polyfill snow. As it blew around in the breeze the horses were having great fun, like children after the snowstorm. There were horses with white polyfill tipped ears and noses. One big piece was being chased by an Arab gelding whose tail flagged to its snorts. Others had it entwined in their manes or tails and seemed content to look silly. There was so much polyfill it looked as if it had managed to reproduce.

In the center of it all was my bay Thoroughbred trotting the trot that I dreamed of one day getting under saddle. Dragged behind him was a tattered trail of fabric, some bright pink and blue plaid, some white polyfill. Yet more was of indistinguishable color. It formed a surprisingly long tail and reminded me of the movie Independence Day, when Will Smith’s character came in dragging the alien tangled in his parachute.

There was so much it would have been impossible to travel the thirty acres and collect all the polyfill. It turned out to be no problem as by the next morning, the vortex had struck once again and taken all of it away. Not a single fluff could be found.

I have since acquiesced to the fact that my horse is a divining rod who attracts the vortex and I have resigned myself to constantly having to replace items. I always buy the same color gummy bell boots so I don’t have to worry about pairs not matching. I use nothing but leather halters. Whether it is a fly sheet, regular sheet or blanket, I know I must buy multiples, and I’ve already told stories about all those missing “chuze”.

I have found out one secret though. The very expensive blankets must have some sort of minor force field as they seem to fight off the vortex for a little bit longer.

The bright side is nothing lasts long enough to get dirty so I don’t really have to worry about washing blankets. The vortex sees to that.

Somewhere in the vortex lives a little pasture gnome with a bell boot hat, tattered leather clothes and white polyfill hair who sits on a twisted horse shoe throne.

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The good will of the horse is like the scent of a rose. Once it is gone, it is gone forever.