Working the Stables

 June 10, 2012

 

"You can start by sweeping out the tack room”.  Earl said when he saw me this morning.  There was no good morning.  “Make sure you wipe off the counters real good.  After that, put the hay out for the ponies to feed.”  I had stood staring at him for a moment.

“Good morning to you too,” I had mumbled before I turned to go.

“What was that?” Earl said.

“Nothing!”  I kept walking.

Stables

“Girl, I asked you a question!”  But I had left Earl to sweep out the tack room, wipe the counters, and spread hay in the feed buckets.  I heard him say “Christ!” as he slammed something hard on the stable floor.

In the late afternoon, my clothes were once again stained with the filth of doing stable chores.  When it was close to quitting time, I leaned against the stable supporting post, wiping the back of my neck with a light blue hand towel as I welcomed a gentle breeze.  I watched Earl walk a circle around the white pony, who held his ears back, eyeing Earl’s whip.  This pony was never halter broken.  Earl was attempting to put a halter on this animal when he should have just been trying to lay a gentle hand on him first.  He was trying to saddle and bit the pony before building trust with him.  I knew that a feral horse was easier to train than a domesticated animal that had distrust for humans, and this animal was both.  Earl was giving body language to the pony that the pony had no way of understanding.  The man was fighting the animal, threatening him with a whip in anticipation of the pony finally giving up.  No actual communication or bond was taking place.  It was a sin.  It was an abhorrent sin.  I had to look away, and a tear dropped by my shoe making an oval imprint in the dust.