Not the Horse’s Arse

Have you ever been whipped in the face by a horse’s tail?  ouch!  As the flies landed on Sophie’s flanks and legs, I watched as her tail swung around to knock them off her to even better, smash the suckers. She didn’t have fingers to swat them away, arms to wipe her forelock out of her eyes, but she had a tail to smartly aim where she could not reach, a shake to target, no head movement visible.

A steamy but breezy Friday,  it was no blowing  fan, no standing in the aisle while Sophie dried off after a turnout, ride and bath. It was an air dry day, mouthfuls of grass while we waited, the sun patiently drying one side–than the other–watching other riders, seeing the flies land then take off in surprise, listening to the chewing, feeling her mane.  Thinking how great a tail could be.  Sometimes.  C

P.S.  Not Sophie’s tail.  But a cute one!

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