“When I’m stuck with a day that’s gray and lonely,
I just stick up my chin and grin and say
The sun will come out tomorrow, so you gotta hang on ’til tomorrow, come what may.”
Tomorrow, “Annie”
Another brisk autumn day, with the first deep rounds of snow long melted, the Landlord is restless. Like a dog without a bone, he has nothing to do. On days such as this, there is suddenly a made up trip to somewhere that requires my company, and I jump at the chance to oblige. Being cooped up in Spare Oom is no place for a wildflower, and I am eager to go out and spread my oats. Making sure I am prepared for the below freezing temperatures, hat, mittens, thick sweater, and Sherpa lined jacket are wrapped snugly around my increasingly slender frame. Congratulating myself on hitting the hamster wheel again this morning, I hear the Queen of Scots proclaiming, “Let her eat cake!” Good idea, I think. The Landlord is rummaging in the ice box, pulling out a fresh bag of Dacus Carota Sativa, and I give him the genetic one eyebrow raise. He smiles, his aging face looking more like the medicine man by the day, and quickly cocks his head toward the door. I nod, and we’re off in the 250hp open sleigh, and laughing all the way.
Not too far down the road, he pulls of to the side, demeanor changing to that of a young lad ready to ask a young lass out for a dance. Smile hung like a hammock between two oaks, he selects three of the finest, most orange carrots from the sack, and cuts off the end with his knife that he’s had since Lyndon Johnson was in office. Shards of Narsil, it’s still sharp! We exit the four wheel drive and cross the road to Annie.
Annie, as you may have guessed, is not a red headed afro-toting orphan. Annie is a horse. THE HORSE, in the eyes of the Landlord. He gazes on her with soft eyes, and makes his way up to the fence to draw her attention with the rooted treats. It is not often that he is heard in a falsetto, and unless getting the attention of two tiny lionesses who patrol La Villa, his voice is low and soft as distant thunder. Animals have a look in their eyes of recognition, and Annie has it for the Landlord. She trots up, coming so close that I watch the steamy tornadoes jet from her giant nostrils, gathering tiny icicles on her nose hair. She is an absolute beauty. When I was young, I received a book on how to draw horses, and spent countless hours trying to get the perspective of the jaw to muzzle just right. Annie could have easily been a centerfold for this manual, with lidded and lashed saucer eyes, twitching ears, and untamed blonde mane.
The Landlord breaks each carrot into three horse-bite size pieces (you can tell he has done this before), and with one in hand, reaches over the fence to within inches of Annie. Then something happens I did not expect – she flinches, and draws back a dozen f steps, head hanging and whinnying. If the Landlord’s eyes would ever shed a tear, this would have been the time. Disappointment deepened every well earned line of laughter angst. I look to him, his steel grey eyes as wet glass. “What just happened?” I ask. The Landlord is an animal whisperer. Cats, dogs, birds, squirrel, deer, turkeys, moose all come to his perch. I’m baffled. He sighs, and explains that a few weeks before I had arrived at La Villa Strangiato, there was an accident with the horse, and he had shocked her. The fence is electrically wired, you see. He had been reaching over the fence to feed her a juicy nibble, when his arm brushed the wire. The jolt went through him and into Annie’s sweet snoot. I asked if he was okay, and he shook it off. “I’m worried about her.”
I paused. The Landlord cared so much for his beloved companion with the sweet horse kisses and the doe eye lashes, and cared not for himself. She was scared. She did not understand what happened. To Annie, this blaze reward had been wielded by not just a man, but a wizard that drew fire. She had no idea what to expect, and while she was yearning for the treat, trust that was once there was shattered. I rest my hand on his shoulder. “She has PTSD. She has no idea what to expect when you come up, and is easily lost in the trauma. You would never intentionally do this.” His eyes well up, gaze that of into distant mountains, and shakes his head in reply. I tell him it’s going to be okay, it will just take time. “I should know, I am expert.” He smiles, one that is bearing the force of a thousand tidal waves of emotion, and replies softly “Okay”.
Carrot thirds in hand, I coo and whisper to our equine delight. She cocks her head, interested in hushed tones and coral cobs. I bow to her as I have seen horses do, right foot in front, knees bent, arms tucked, and head lowered to the ground, and wait. A horse’s gait is unmistakable, and the crackling crunch of the frozen mud and grass are reminiscent of the sounds the scar tissue in my splenius and semispinalis caplitus each time I stretch. Annie is so close I can hear her breath and almost her heartbeat. Slowly, I rise just enough to roll one of the carrots under the fence. Her eyes widen, and it is the first time I have witnessed the oblong pupil and deep chocolate of her orbital contemplators. Our gazes locked, the Queen of Scots whispers “I love you” in the softest voice she can manage. Bringing her sweet pucker to the ground, she gingerly lifts it and starts crunching happily.
The Landlord’s expression has changed. Bewilderment. Beauty. Love. Relief. Understanding. Did I just detect a hint of Respect? It is this that separates us from the animals, but is our understanding of their struggles and lack of knowledge that creates the ability to cross the fences time and time again. The Landlord is rolling the bones now, happily engaging with his beloved Annie. He expresses that she has the sweetest kisses in the whole universe. Driving back to the house, the Landlord’s sighs of relief and recanting of the moments bring joy to the sleigh.
It is a few days later, and the Landlord has that look in his eye. “We’re off to see Annie,” he declares to anyone who wishes to listen, and in moments we are before the great white equine. This day, the first few carrots are under the fence, and she chomps merrily. Taking the last two, I reach out through the mid section of the fence with carrot in hand. She inches in, and to my surprise, flips it into her mouth with a flick of her pink and brown lips. I watch her chew, and wait until she has cleared the bits from her teeth. It is then that she comes back for the last carrot. Annie hesitates, inches away. I’m silent, her breathing is deafening as it quickens. She leans in, and takes it, but lingers just a moment, touching lips to palm. A kiss. A kiss from the horse. Never in a million years would I ever expect an expression of love from this near unicorn, but she did, and the Landlord saw it with his ancient eyes. He laughed.
I think he might be jealous.
There is nothing like giving the horse a carrot.
Must be the ones who start
To mold a new reality
Closer to the heart
Closer to the heart
Reflect it in their art
They forge their creativity
Closer to the heart
Yes closer to the heart
Each must know his part
To sow a new mentality
Closer to the heart
Yes closer to the heart, yeah, oh
You can be the captain
And I will draw the chart
Sailing into destiny
Closer to the heart”
A Walk In Neverland 