A. A. Milne, author of Winnie the Pooh, was quoted as saying, “Some people talk to animals. Not many listen, though.”
That’s not the case at Swan View Ranch. Here, we listen to our friends in the field. Sometimes the conversations are serious, like when one of our 4-legged pals needs something. More water, maybe, or a handful of grain. Other times, it seems they just want to say “hi,” or, “where have you been? I’m starving!”
On one particular day, however, this last spring, I just happened to catch what seemed to be a “secret” conversation between Gerald and Misty, our Morgan mare. They often walk together up to the barn, but I don’t often see them talking, so I paused, as it was a bit out of the ordinary.
As you can see, Misty—the one with her tongue out—is doing the talking. Gerald, with his ear cocked close, is listening carefully.
From where I was, a bit farther up in the field, I couldn’t hear what they were saying. But I figured it probably wasn’t all that important. Some barnyard gossip, maybe. Or a negotiation. Misty is always concerned about her stomach, so I figured she could be trying to work a deal for a little more hay in her manger that day.
You know, one of those, “you sneak me the hay and we won’t tell Mom,” sort of things.
When I looked around again, they were coming along together as calm as you please. I decided then that Misty was being her kind little self and helping Gerald with a little support as they walked up to the barn.
He’s been having trouble with his knees lately, so it made sense. Satisfied, I turned around and continued walking.
Then my ears started burning. You know that feeling you have when you’re just sure someone is talking about you?
I try to ignore it, usually—assuming I’m just being silly—but this time, it was like the hairs were standing up on the back of my neck.
I turned around one more time.
Sure enough.
They were laughing!
What was so funny?
I asked, but Gerald just shrugged his shoulders, like he didn’t know what I was talking about.
Yeah, right.
I asked Misty, but she looked at me like, “What, me? What are you talking about? Is it time to eat? How about a little extra hay today?”
I glared at them both, but got nothing but innocent expressions.
What could I do? I gave up and kept walking.
And I swear I heard a sort of high-pitched nicker. Is that what it sounds like when a horse laughs?
Up at the barn, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something embarrassing had just happened. I checked myself over carefully. All my clothes were on. Nothing was hanging out. As far as I know, I was walking normally.
Those pants, though. The ones I was wearing that day. They were pretty old. Faded. Baggy. Frayed.
They’ve gone into the trash.
So far, so good. They haven’t laughed at me since. I don’t think.
Though now I’m sure to be the one following them up to the barn.
