Tuesday, June 7, 2016

Of Chipmunks and Grumps

Hubby's Tennessee Walking Horse, Solomon, turned 20 last month. 

The years have been kind to Solly. He's as strong, sound, sure-footed, velvet-gaited, cowy, and moody as ever. Solly can be sweet and cooperative one minute; the next, grumpy and offended. 

I'll never forget the afternoon that four of us hiked up the East Rosebud Trail to camp and fish. Solly had been recruited to pack our gear and grub. He pretended to go along with our agenda. 

Once we reached Elk Lake and began to set up camp, Solly pretended to graze contentedly. When we weren't looking, however, he unpicketed himself and galloped down the trail the way we'd come. 

Hubby tore after him, taking shortcuts across the switchbacks for a mile or so. It looked like Solly might not stop until he reached the truck and trailer. 

Just as Solly approached a small footbridge, a chipmunk fortuitously scampered across the bridge. Apparently, tiny chipmunks pose some kind of danger to large horses because Solly hit the skids and was soon apprehended. 

If we'd known what Solly knew, we'd have trotted right down that trail with him. 

That night, a thunderstorm erupted. Lightning ricocheted around the mountains, sending a moose crashing through camp.  The six-hour rain streamed through two of three tents. 

Morning found us as drenched as Solly, whose expression clearly said, I told you so. 

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