Trudy Andrew | Canadian Author

Tails From the Farm

Scrapping Sisters

We woke to another busy day of knocking tasks off the ‘before the snow flies’ list, and a hard labour day it was. Sweetpea, our little bargain hunter, had found an amazing deal on used fence posts. Sure, they were still in the ground, and yes, the wire was still up, but both of those weren’t big problems. We’re not afraid of a bit of hard work. It took a few hours, on two separate days, to take down several different kinds of electric fencing. From electric braid rope and soft aluminum wire, to steel wire that was far too heavy to make it good for keeping livestock, there was a selection of types to deal with.
Finally ready to pull posts out of the ground, we worked together like a well-oiled machine. Well, the girlchild and her dad worked like a well-oiled machine. I was more like a gimpy tinman (or woman) as I hobbled along. Still, they carried on with their job, and I had mine. In charge of taking apart braced corners and loading the posts into the pickup truck, at least I could work at my own pace. I didn’t envy sweetpea at all. Hubby was always in too big a hurry, and I would rather work without the pressure of that.
Time flies when the work is steady and there’s no standing around. Within two and a half hours, we had over a hundred posts out of the ground, ninety of them loaded and ready for the trip home.
Once at home, there were posts to unload and stack for next year. Other than a few small, fence repairs to get at, anything major was going to wait until next spring. We were in the midst of unloading the truck, (they had pity on poor, decrepit me, so I was keeping count) when there was the biggest ruckus coming from the horses. Scrapping horses, sound like dinosaurs when they fight. The noise they make, is like something out of the Jurassic period. To people who’ve never heard it, it most sound like the horses are trying to kill each other. I have to admit, sometimes it seems that they surely are.
“That sounds like it could be Jim,” the girlchild said, frowning at the noise.
“I can see Jim and Aurora,” shaking my head, I sighed, “That sounds like the sisters.”
“We’ll keep count,” sweetpea’s frown deepened, “you’d better hurry, go see what’s going on.”
Hurrying away as fast as I could gimp along, I saw what I expected to see, the sisters, Sally and Donnie, were kicking the bejeebers out of each other. Only three mares share a very large pen and rather lovely, big pasture. Raven, Sally and Donnie all share the same sire. Sally and Donnie are full sisters. Raven is top dog, and nobody messes with her. Next in line is Sally, then Donnie. The problem is, Donnie very much wants to be second in command. It makes no sense at all, since they all get along quite well. At least they do, most of the time. This time, Donnie had decided to push the issue. She had every intention of proving to Sally that she could clean her clock. Sally however, had no intention of letting such a thing happen. Donnie kept threatening and posturing. Turning her big, golden rump to Sally’s red one, she let fly with those hooves. Of course, Sally responded in kind. Both horses roared at the top of their lungs. Did they listen to me? Not for a second. They were too wrapped up in their squabbling, to pay attention, though I certainly hollered at the pair. I don’t know what Donnie had in her blonde head, but she wasn’t about to give up. By the time I hurried to get a halter that was hanging nearby, those two brats had shared a few more kickfests. Before I got near, it happened, Donnie the instigator was dead lame. Just like that, the war was over. Sally walked over to stand beside Donnie, a truce was called.
I still pulled Sally out of the pen. Donnie was clearly injured. The last thing we needed was, for the sisters to get back to scrapping. Though Donnie had started the fight, Sally never backed down. It didn’t take much to get a response out of her, and injured or not, Donnie could easily start something again.
I checked Donnie over, and though there were many points of contact, some swelling and tiny spots of blood, her leg moved properly. She’s going to be sore for a while, but that’s it. One more task to add to the daily list, taking care of Donnie.

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About Trudy Andrew

Trudy Andrew lives on a small farm just east of Winnipeg, Manitoba, where she enjoys her Morgan horses. A dreamer since she was a child, its no surprise to those who know her well that her imagination would find an outlet in writing, as it has in the past through artwork.
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 Oakbank, MB