I pull the hay down and load it in my wheel-barrow as the rest of the herd trots over to us. I shoo them all away from the gate, and they fall in behind me as I push my wheelbarrow to the feed ground. Fancy follows me closely making ugly horse faces at any who would dare to come too close. Another flock flies overhead, I throw that flake of hay and wave to the geese. And then I tend to the business at hand.
Horses are unpredictable.
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