When I graze Mathilda, my wants are simple. Is she about to roll? Am I downhill from her in the event of catastrophic system failure? If the answer is no to both, I go back to my book and let her get on with it. Hubby pays more attention [Grazing]. The most recent time out he noticed that there were certain grasses she preferred. So, he began to look for patches of those. When he tried to show her what he had found, the exchange went like this:
Hubby tugs on leadrope.
Hubby drags her head out of the grass and over to new place.
Mare: What? Leave me alone.
Hubby: Here. Look at what I found.
Mare: Go away. What could you possibly know about grazing? Oh look, the good stuff.
Mare: Why are you hassling me? Oh look, the good stuff.
She never did admit that he was of any assistance.