All the Pretty Little Horses

Two paddocks stand beside each other on Benvoulin Road.  One holds the sweetest little herd of miniature horse and the other contains a couple of gorgeous standard sized ones. I visited with the minis this morning, rubbing their thick winter coats when they wandered close enough for me to reach a bare hand between the fence rails. I was as sorry as they were that I didn't have any food to share.

I was a little more leery of "Black Beauty", a tall, slender ebony steed who stood like a Buckingham Palace guard, unblinking and motionless while I snapped my way back and forth in front of him.  His only  movement was to lower his head to chew on a yellow sign on the fence with the word "slow" written in black letters.  I think he may have been a bit insulted by the implication.

Just out of shouting range, two people were scooping up what I'm pretty sure was horse manure.  I didn't know if I was trespassing or if they might get upset if I gave into  temptation and they saw me smooth my hand down the horse's bony forehead to his soft muzzle.  As I write this I regret that I decided not to risk it.