Disarming Indeed
Sharing amusing, horse stories with friends, reminded me of a rather crazy yet hilarious story. Way back, when I first came across Paprika, my first Morgan and first Morgan stallion, I was witness to the most bizarre sight. Several weeks after we had taken Paprika home, I went back to talk to them about another horse. Well, not so much another horse, as it was a potential one. You see, before we bought him, the ever so wild Paprika, had gotten loose and bred a mare. I wanted that foal. Sure, it would be many months down the road, but how great would it be, to make arrangements to buy it ahead of time?
We meandered down to the stable, to see the mares they still had. In one of the tie-stalls was, a most beautiful mare. She was about as red as could be. Not at all typical of a red chestnut, her coat was lighter, redder. The wavy, shiny mane and tail, were the same. She had the prettiest head, a lovely, big brown eye, and a gorgeous neck. What am I saying? She was simply beautiful all over, and a truly fine example, of what a Morgan should look like. It was obvious that her owner’s thought so, too. The pride in their expressions was unmistakable.
“I’ll bring her out,” he offered, smiling with anticipation, at the opportunity to show off the beautiful horse, “then you can get a better look at her.”
Without waiting for an answer, he approached the pretty mare’s lovely, red rump. It was weird, but I immediately had the sense that the mare was displeased with the idea. Her ears weren’t laid back, nor did she make a snarky mare face. Still, something was amiss. I could feel it, like a real, tangible thing.
“Now don’t you kick me, you red witch you,” he quietly, ever so softly crooned, as he began to move between the horse and stall partition. There was no warning, no change, yet with lightning speed, the mare reacted to the invasion of her space. Whack! She kicked him, hard!
Astounded, gobsmacked by what we had just seen, I shared a look of shock, with the friend I had with me, but the bizarre show wasn’t over yet. Before we could do little more than gasp with shock, he carried on. After a brief few seconds, he continued. “Ow,” he quietly groaned, “now, I told you not to kick me, you red witch, and you still did.”
Whack! She kicked him again! What surely was a painful thud of hoof against leg, made me shudder at the sound. Still, the rhetoric continued as he pressed forward. There were a few further, rather substantial blows dealt out, all without even a hint of punishment in response. There wasn’t a smidge of warning, no drama, no leaping forward, or pulling back. It was the oddest thing, I have ever seen, and I’ve seen some odd things over the years. It was difficult to even properly admire the pretty, red mare, what with the craziness we had just witnessed. After a few minutes, back into the stall she went. Did she kick him on the way out? You bet she did, several times. I suppose she was aptly named, as Disarming Damsel definitely had her owners bamboozled.
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