Grazing is peaceful. I came to this profound conclusion on Thursday when Mathilda and I were out for her evening hand-graze. In addition to a headache, I had my knickers in a twist over some perceived injustice in my life. After 30 minutes, my headache and bad mood had faded.
I knew it was easy duty. I stand around & read. My idea of leisure is to sit around & read. How is this a hardship? Since my primary tasks are to keep Mathilda from rolling, Rodney from approaching, and myself from tripping, I am therefore required to read light, frothy books that do not clog my processor. Guilt-free beach reading. Plus, doing my good deed for the day means I can take the knot out of my necktie [The Scout’s Necktie].
All of which lovely and green tea and crumpets, but on Thursday I realized that it’s all about the sound – that continuous white noise of grass being ripped in half. It’s quiet enough not to intrude but violent enough to be soothing. It’s the organic version of popping bubble wrap.
(Photo notes: Mathilda is wearing Rodney’s grooming slip. That’s right, my 17+ hand giraffe has the dainty head of a 15h 2″ mare. I wish I could get a picture of M grabbing grass stalks with her prehensile upper lip [Grazing]. Alas, my recent bout of stealth photography has left her suspicious of anything in my hands.)
[Later – or running, or flirting, or … Rolling is only an issue right after a bath. The rest are everpresent opportunities. Silly cow.]