It was a fine spring-type day,recently, and I decided to spend some of it with Bit at the Harmony Barn. Every change of season aggravated his EPM – that pesky neurological disease that made him trip and stumble – and I wanted to walk him around the property so that he’d become accustomed to the uneven ground. Riding season was just around the corner, and I didn’t want him tripping and falling with me on his back.
After I groomed him (“Chicks dig a nice mane and tail, Bubby!”), I led him down the track to the back end of the property. I noticed that he was slowing down, in his old age, and I didn’t have to hold as tightly to the lead rope as I used to. I walked him past the old poop pile and into the back pasture. We stood on the new poop pile, a few metres off the ground.
“You can see everything from up here, Bubby!” I enthused. Bit seemed agreeable to the idea, and stood quietly next to me until I started walking again.
We’d both gone through some changes over the past year: Bit was that much older, and showing signs of arthritis, while I had gained an alarming amount of weight during the year of COVID. I found myself easily out of breath on this walk, so the pause on the poop pile was for me as much as it was for him.
When I’d led him back up the track, I found boarder Janet with a wheelbarrow full of poo. She’d been mucking out the stalls in the front stable, where her rescue horse resided. Upon hearing that Marshall was shedding up a storm, I asked if Janet would save me some of his hair.
“I leave it out for the birds to use for their nests,” I told her.
“I never thought of that!” she answered. “I’ve certainly got a lot of it – after grooming just one side of Marshall, the stuff’s all over the ground! You’re welcome to it!”
After a couple of minutes of this standing around business, Bit decided he’d had enough.
“Did you just bite me?” I asked incredulously. My tone clearly conveyed to him that he’d just done an unacceptable thing.
“Back up!” I commanded. “Back up!”
Horses are not fond of backing up, and I found that with the right tone of voice, and a bit of backing up, Bit could be made to understand that he was in big trouble. I looked back at Janet.
“He bit me,” I told her.
Janet grinned. “Apparently, he doesn’t want you talking to other people!”
“He and I are going to have words about this,” I replied as I led him away.
“That was very uncool, Bubby! I don’t bite you! I’ve never once bitten you! I’ve never let anyone bite you! When I’m talking to someone, you need to be standing patiently, waiting for me to be done!”
As I finished my lecture, I glanced over at him. His head was hanging, letting me know that he understood. If you find that hard to believe, what happened next should convince you.
We rounded the corner of the front stable just in time to see Wendy preparing a load of boxes. She and daughter Connie were distributors for a brand of natural supplements for animals, Hilton Herbs. Every day, numerous boxes were piled outside the front stable for shipping. I greeted Wendy and stopped to chat.
Bit’s bomb-proofing training was always at the forefront of my mind, and I took every opportunity that presented itself to expose him to things that he wouldn’t experience in his paddock. The front barn was a favorite target because there was always a pile of stuff lying about. Sometimes, I would walk him around the obstacles. Sometimes, I would open and close the dustbin lid, or knock on the side of it so that he would hear unaccustomed sounds. And, sometimes, I would make him walk on the concrete apron to experience a different surface under foot. This time, I walked Bit between the dustbin and the open bay door of the stable, and stood talking with Wendy.
There were a number of things Bit had to take notice of, as we stood there: the shipping boxes, a forklift, and pasture fencing inventory, to name a few. Bit had no knowledge of those things, forcing him to process each and every item in quick fashion, to determine whether they posed a threat. He soon figured out that they didn’t, and stood quietly for a time.
After a couple of minutes, something spooked him and he danced a few steps around me, accidentally trapping himself between the dustbin and the forklift, with no way out unless I moved. I didn’t, but without a word being said, he calmed himself down and stood quietly once again, until Wendy and I had finished talking.
As we walked away, I said, “That was a good job, Bubby! You did just what I asked, and I appreciate it! Good job!” To underscore my words, I gave him a bit of carrot.
While we finished up our walk, I reflected on how long we had been working together – going on nine years – and how well we had come to know each other in that time. He knew that I would only let him get away with just so much bad behavior before I called him on it. I knew that there would always be a bit of wanker in him that I’d never be able to eradicate or control.
Bit knew that biting was a bad thing, though, and he only did it when he thought he could get away with it. Why he ever thought that there was a good time to bite was beyond me, although Wendy and Ron both put it down to my hand-feeding him treats. Indeed, hand-feeding any of the horses was strictly (generally) verboten, even though various people (me) sometimes (often) did it anyway. Every now and then, Wendy would write No Hand Feeding Any Horse! on the message board, which only made those of us who did it more careful not to get caught!
“Don’t rat me out,” I would tell rescue horse Rocket as I’d slip him a treat. I was confident that he would keep our secret, and Bit generally did, too – right up until he’d behave badly, at which point Wendy or Ron would feel compelled to remind me, yet again, “That’s what happens when you hand-feed them!” I would give them the same hangdog look that Bit gave me after I lectured him that spring day, but, of course, I’d be right back at it when their backs were turned.
Still and all, Bit and I were pals, and the occasional bite wasn’t going to change things. Just don’t tell Bit I said that!
