Last Saturday we had company on the farm and there were small people that wanted to pay attention to the ponies, the ponies love this. They get brushed on, talked to sweetly, and treats are generally involved.
On Tuesday we had company again. There was some brushing, there was some ohh and ahh'ng, there were pieces of melon, and there was a lot of sweet talk.
The children involved in both cases were no younger than nine and not ever in the presence of the ponies without myself and or Dale.
Texas and Katie loved this. I could wax poetic about the feeling of joy that comes when I see a young person touch a tail and light up like a shooting star however that is another post.
Patch was not a big fan. He tolerated this "pretty pretty pony" thing I had going on with the little people on Saturday, probably confident that it was not to continue. He became mildly irritated with me allowing these strange people (I don't think it had much to do with the fact that they were little people) to come into his room on Saturday. He also voiced that, mildly, Saturday.
Patch has a crabby face when he wants to. Patch also has a "I'm not speaking to you" face.
I got them both on Saturday.
On Tuesday I got the crabby, I'm not speaking to you, cause now I'm pissed, face. I even got the don't you dare touch me and get that "other" person out of my room glare.
I didn't get out of his room. I did have the little person get me a halter and leave the "room". She had been standing by the gate during the series of faces, no where near Patch; it was me he was mad at, not her.
I put the halter on him and proceeded to brush him out. He didn't move about, I didn't get any mean faces. I got Patch standing there, a little smug and a little resigned.
It was just him and I, she (the little person) was standing outside the stall. I talked, Patch mostly stood there and tolerated. I'm not sure he listened so much as he stood there and hoped that maybe I'd figure it out since he couldn't speak English.
I didn't say anything profound. I was confused by his obvious displeasure and I hadn't figured it out yet. I only knew that if I walked away I'd miss something important, so I stood with him and brushed and said things like "wow Patch what was that about?" and brushed some more. He stood there, in a halter, which is unheard of for something as simple as brushing in the stall, and looked almost as confused as I was.
We finished up and after everyone had left the barn area I went in to talk to Patch. He was still not happy and although he was not as pissed, he clearly wasn't going to come play kissy face before final lights out. I turned out the lights and went down to the house.
I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out why he was so upset. What he was telling me was clear, he was not cool with people he didn't know really, strangers if you will, fussing over him. I kept thinking "ya know maybe he didn't like you letting someone else play pretty pretty pony with him". It's not like anyone was hurting him, we are talking a soft brush and a lot of innocent, starry eyed wonder showered on him. That being said I suppose it could be a bit like being put on display I.E. playing pretty pretty pony.
Texas and Katie love it.
Patch, I think, does not.
Patch tried on Saturday to politely tell me that he had boundaries and this was one he'd like to keep intact.
I didn't listen.
He told me again on Tuesday, a little less politely. I was listening, I just didn't understand what I was hearing.
Patch has never been pissed at me, and he clearly was. He was not "speaking" to me. He tolerated me on Wednesday, sorta gave an inch on Thursday and today actually did me the favor of slobbering on my hand.
I'm pretty sure I am forgiven. That being said Wednesday afternoon I apologized for not quite getting why he was upset. Thursday I apologized again, knowing where I had gone wrong, and Friday morning I stood with him and without apologizing and just told him how much I loved him while he ate his breakfast.
Last night he was his normal self, he stood at the kitchen door waiting for me to notice him for a good five minutes (perhaps patience equals a treat?), he came up to the lawn chairs to say hi at least five million times, he nuzzled my hand, slobbered on me, and even reminded me that sometimes my back is the best scratching post ever.
I don't think my "most favorite handsome pony ever" likes to be fussed over and or rather put on display. I think what Patch was telling me was "I love you, and you, you can do whatever you'd like so long as it does NOT include random people coming into my room and fussing over me as if I am a barbie doll pony, I'm over that, retired remember??"
Shorty, Apache, or Patch has served so many people. At twenty (give or take a year) I think that if anyone deserves to kick back and "do nothing more than be a horse" it's Patch. Normally, I don't ask him to do much more than be Patch, and he knows it.
Normally, he doesn't have to work so hard to tell me something so simple.
Lesson (or rather lessons) learned, again...
On Tuesday we had company again. There was some brushing, there was some ohh and ahh'ng, there were pieces of melon, and there was a lot of sweet talk.
The children involved in both cases were no younger than nine and not ever in the presence of the ponies without myself and or Dale.
Texas and Katie loved this. I could wax poetic about the feeling of joy that comes when I see a young person touch a tail and light up like a shooting star however that is another post.
Patch was not a big fan. He tolerated this "pretty pretty pony" thing I had going on with the little people on Saturday, probably confident that it was not to continue. He became mildly irritated with me allowing these strange people (I don't think it had much to do with the fact that they were little people) to come into his room on Saturday. He also voiced that, mildly, Saturday.
Patch has a crabby face when he wants to. Patch also has a "I'm not speaking to you" face.
I got them both on Saturday.
On Tuesday I got the crabby, I'm not speaking to you, cause now I'm pissed, face. I even got the don't you dare touch me and get that "other" person out of my room glare.
I didn't get out of his room. I did have the little person get me a halter and leave the "room". She had been standing by the gate during the series of faces, no where near Patch; it was me he was mad at, not her.
I put the halter on him and proceeded to brush him out. He didn't move about, I didn't get any mean faces. I got Patch standing there, a little smug and a little resigned.
It was just him and I, she (the little person) was standing outside the stall. I talked, Patch mostly stood there and tolerated. I'm not sure he listened so much as he stood there and hoped that maybe I'd figure it out since he couldn't speak English.
I didn't say anything profound. I was confused by his obvious displeasure and I hadn't figured it out yet. I only knew that if I walked away I'd miss something important, so I stood with him and brushed and said things like "wow Patch what was that about?" and brushed some more. He stood there, in a halter, which is unheard of for something as simple as brushing in the stall, and looked almost as confused as I was.
We finished up and after everyone had left the barn area I went in to talk to Patch. He was still not happy and although he was not as pissed, he clearly wasn't going to come play kissy face before final lights out. I turned out the lights and went down to the house.
I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out why he was so upset. What he was telling me was clear, he was not cool with people he didn't know really, strangers if you will, fussing over him. I kept thinking "ya know maybe he didn't like you letting someone else play pretty pretty pony with him". It's not like anyone was hurting him, we are talking a soft brush and a lot of innocent, starry eyed wonder showered on him. That being said I suppose it could be a bit like being put on display I.E. playing pretty pretty pony.
Texas and Katie love it.
Patch, I think, does not.
Patch tried on Saturday to politely tell me that he had boundaries and this was one he'd like to keep intact.
I didn't listen.
He told me again on Tuesday, a little less politely. I was listening, I just didn't understand what I was hearing.
Patch has never been pissed at me, and he clearly was. He was not "speaking" to me. He tolerated me on Wednesday, sorta gave an inch on Thursday and today actually did me the favor of slobbering on my hand.
I'm pretty sure I am forgiven. That being said Wednesday afternoon I apologized for not quite getting why he was upset. Thursday I apologized again, knowing where I had gone wrong, and Friday morning I stood with him and without apologizing and just told him how much I loved him while he ate his breakfast.
Last night he was his normal self, he stood at the kitchen door waiting for me to notice him for a good five minutes (perhaps patience equals a treat?), he came up to the lawn chairs to say hi at least five million times, he nuzzled my hand, slobbered on me, and even reminded me that sometimes my back is the best scratching post ever.
I don't think my "most favorite handsome pony ever" likes to be fussed over and or rather put on display. I think what Patch was telling me was "I love you, and you, you can do whatever you'd like so long as it does NOT include random people coming into my room and fussing over me as if I am a barbie doll pony, I'm over that, retired remember??"
Shorty, Apache, or Patch has served so many people. At twenty (give or take a year) I think that if anyone deserves to kick back and "do nothing more than be a horse" it's Patch. Normally, I don't ask him to do much more than be Patch, and he knows it.
Normally, he doesn't have to work so hard to tell me something so simple.
Lesson (or rather lessons) learned, again...
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