This was how Rodney spent Thanksgiving. Hunting season began with – dare I say – a bang. Rodney was up on the hill monitoring the noise and occasionally trotting back & forth. Mathilda was in her pen monitoring Rodney and anxious to be out trotting as well. Hence the confinement to her pen. Hubby sat with her for part of the morning. When it looked like she wouldn’t settle without Rodney, we put him up in the stall for a few hours. He was still on alert. She calmed down because her boy toy was close. Different priorities.
It was a long day for those of us fretting about the horses, but we couldn’t hardly blame ’em.
Although nothing is guaranteed when humans & firearms interact, I am ever so slightly less concerned about the Bambi stalkers in my area. Yes, the horses’s pasture is surrounded by woods on three sides. However, these guys – and it does seem to be mostly guys – have been hunting & shooting all their lives. I remember telling a young kid that my husband didn’t hunt. He looked at me as if he couldn’t process an adult male who didn’t hunt. You know that life-altering moment you realize that other people see the world differently? Yeah, like that.
Plus, this is not a destination area. The hunters are my neighbors. They – I fervently hope – know who lives where.
When I kept horses in New England, we just left them in the barn for hunting season weekends. The area was pretty enough & close enough to population centers that city dudes would come up and fire away in drunken ignorance. As a city brat, I’m usually all for sophisticated urbanites, but not ones who don’t know a buck from a buckskin.
How went your holiday?
Gratuitous Kitten Pic