Jumping Bean Jim
To say Jim is comfortable with us and where he lives, is really beginning to show itself. He still has doubts about being touched on his legs and clearly wonders what’s going on, but he’s sure of himself. Sometimes, I think too comfortable and sure of himself. Lately, he and Aurora have been full of beans. One never knows when they’ll explode into action, exuberantly leaping into the air and bucking with sheer joy and abandon.
“Jim,” we’ll call in warning, “fence Jim … don’t forget the fence. Be careful.”
He’s pretty good at stopping what he’s doing if we call out the word ‘fence’, and he motors around the pen with ease. I don’t know how he does it, yet he rarely hits the fence. Somehow, he knows exactly where it is. Nose to ground, he’ll cast back and forth a little, like a dog finding a scent, and he’ll find what he’s looking for. Be it the water tub, the feed tub or the hay, he knows where they are. It always amazes me that he will go to the empty feed tub though it moves all over the pen. It gets caught by passing hooves, shoved by impatient noses and inspected by hungry cottontail bunnies. He’ll travel between the hay and water tub with incredible accuracy, and generally figures out his space very well. Still, it concerns us when he leaps and bounds about, with what appears to be complete abandon. When we go in to feed, we warn him that we’re close.
“Behave yourself Jim. I’m right here. No bucking.” So far, it’s worked well, but sometimes it’s as if the wheels are turning in that spotty head of his, and we keep an eye on any unexpected naughtiness.
Well, with all the playful action as of late, it wasn’t surprising to go out to do chores and find a broken plank in his pen. Not only did he break a plank, and yes, we’re sure it was him. Aurora watches where she goes, and wouldn’t kick a plank like that. Jim on the other hand, has been seen leaping into the air like a Lipizzan and kick out like there’s no way anything could be around him. Maybe he doesn’t even care if there is. Aurora can see, she can avoid him, she has to avoid him. He’s oblivious to what he might do to her when he’s enjoying life. So, it was totally Jim who broke the plank.
“Oh Jim, why … why did you do that?”
He looks at me, completely unconcerned. It was clear by his expression that all he wanted was senior feed. He said so with a little, soft fluttering of his nostrils and question, “feed?”
Of course, Aurora echoes him, but with a loud neigh, because she’s important too, and in desperate need of senior feed. It’s a good thing he’s blind, as she’s been giving him a lot of snarky mare face and attitude as of late. It doesn’t get her anywhere, but she surely is trying. Oh, so there’s a plank to replace, and I did find where he peeled the hide off that hind leg of his. It was on the plank right below the one he broke. He must have some sort of fondness for that part of the pen. Changes will have to be made, as we have to keep him safe, but just like us, I’m sure he’s waiting for spring and big pastures. I’m sure they both are. It’s time to have room to move and play.
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