When I went out to the field, Chloe, being in heat, was extra frisky and kicked out at George right in front of me. Earlier in the day, I'd been out in the field, and Bridget and George had stood about 10 feet apart looking at each other, while I walked back and forth from one to the other, scratching each one's head. But there was to be no such detente this time. I was a bit flustered, and my energy was very scattered. I thought to myself, "Oh gosh, I'm just in the way, maybe I should have stayed in the house." Whereupon George came up and slid me into the cozy spot next to his flank. As soon as I was there, my head immediately cleared. I rested my chin on his back and slowed down. We stood for a couple of minutes, and when I was relaxed, George sighed, chewed, and then walked over to get some hay, allowing Bridget to come up for some attention.
I scratched her hindquarters for a bit and then got sick of that. After trying in vain to get me to start again, she and Rose followed me over to some shade trees, where we hung out for a while. Then George, at a moment deemed appropriate by himself (and possibly because Bridget had started asking me to scratch her hindquarters again), came over and shooed the mares away. He and I spent a little time together, and then I had to leave. He followed me to the gate and stood looking at me over the fence. I told him I wished he could come to the post office with me. (Any of you who haven't yet seen Patches the Coolest Horse better go watch it now. Sorry about the cheeseburger.)
I think George is drawing his own conclusions about what we're doing, or trying to do, whatever that is. My own view of things is very coloured by language, by linear thought processes, by "things I've read" and "things I've heard." George has none of that. He observes me, and his fellow horses, and other people, and probably things out there in the atmosphere about which I know nothing. He is putting together his own viewpoint about our horse-human project.
One thing I just realized about George is that despite the menacing looks which send the mares skittering away, he has never made contact, or tried to make contact, with them. He's never even opened his mouth.
That was yesterday. Today, after they'd had breakfast, they were all standing by the fence for a long time, with George staring pointedly at the house. I went out and fixed their water, but that wasn't it. George pawed at the fence. I told my daughter to go take her horse for a walk, so off they went. There they are in the distance at the end of the drive:
However, when they returned and my daughter went to talk to Bridget, George resumed his post, staring at the house, waiting for me to come out:
It's funny that just when I was complaining that the horses didn't focus on me, George spends about an hour staring intently at the house, willing me to come out so he can ask me to do something for him!