Lucky the Horse Does a Walkabout

I was standing at my kitchen sink, blissfully skinning a bumper crop of tomatoes, preparatory to canning. In my zone, I was startled when my husband walks in and blurts out, “There’s a horse in our front yard!” My immediate reaction was, “Oh goody. Does that mean we can keep him?” followed by, “Say what?!?”

I gaped at him and he repeated, “There is a horse in our front yard!” I rinsed off my hands and went to look out the picture window. Sure enough, there was a horse blissfully grazing on grass. I went back to the kitchen, dried off my hands and grabbed a couple of carrots from the fridge. I went outside and slowly walked towards him. He raised his head, whickered, and went back to grazing. From a cursory glance, he was well fed and well taken care of.

When I was in arm’s length from him, I said, “Hi guy. What’s happening?” He looked up at me and blinked. Obviously, nothing was happening. I snapped the carrots into pieces and placed on my hand and held out to him. He began lipping my hand to get the chunks and crunched. I reached out to rub his neck and he turned to face me, bringing his face into full contact with my hand and if he had been a cat, he would have been purring. My husband stood on the front porch, aghast. He knew I had had close contact with horses in my childhood and youth, but I guess he just never realized what that entails. His largest animal contact entailed his Bassett hound.

In a matter of moments, the horse and I were buddies with me stroking him, him rubbing his head against me and both of us very happy. I turned around and softly instructed my husband to get me the length of light rope in our shed. Cautiously, he brought it to me and I gently snuck it around the horse’s head. I chirped at him and pulled on the rope and he followed me into the back yard. I fastened him to a post under one of the oak trees and then fetched him a big bucket of water.

“Beats me”, I told my husband. I had given him a once over. “He’s been recently brushed, fed; his hooves and shoes are recently maintained. No signs of any trauma, struggle, injuries. Mystery horse, that’s what he is. Mystery horse. He didn’t run heavy to get here. He just walked and here he is.”

Content he was well secured, watered, and safe under the tree, I went back into the kitchen where I could watch him from the kitchen window and began to again work on the tomatoes. A couple of hours passed and he was still there and obviously content.

The summer silence was broken by the door chime. My husband went and came back into the kitchen with a harried looking woman. “She’s looking for a horse.” His lips were twtitching.

“Well”, I asked her, pointing out the window, “Is that him?” She gasped and started laughing. “That rascal.” We went outside and the horse made a noise that meant he knew the woman. She introduced herself and said she lived in the farm at the cul de sac. We have a small neighborhood and at the end of cul de sac is a drive with a No Trespassing sign at the beginning. Apparently, it led to her farm. We had heard roosters crowing in the morning and several times, the soft moo of cows.

“Meet Lucky. He is a recent acquisition. Great horse, sweet as sugar, but he loves to take walks. We thought we had him securely gated but I guess he’s smarter than us. His previous owner said to watch out, that he could slip locks, chains, etc. and when he wanted to do a walkabout, he would. We’ve only had him two weeks. We bought him because his owner had health issues and couldn’t keep him anymore. Apparently, he is up to his old tricks.”

“I rubbed him. Hi Lucky, good to meecha.”. I handed the piece of rope to her and she led him down the road to her farm. I went back to work again. Looking out of the kitchen window, the space he had stood seemed strangely empty.

A few days later, I was doing the supper dishes and looked up. There under the tree, was Lucky, in his place. I laughed. I told my husband what was up, grabbed another piece of rope and the stepstool. He followed me outside as I fashioned an improvised bridle from the rope and used the stepstool to climb on board. “Uh, don’t you need a saddle or something?” my husband rather fearfully asked. “Nope. Got the rope, got a grip, ready to ride.” He watched in awe as Lucky and I headed down the drive and then down the strip to his home.

I had just barely gotten to the end of the little lane when Lucky’s new mom came out of the house, heading towards me. We both had a good laugh as I rode Lucky to their porch and climbed off. We led him to the gate of his enclosure and sure enough, that rascal had slipped the chain. I took the rope off and waved him back into his field.

I was embarrassedly thanked although I assured her, the pleasure was all mine. I walked slowly back home thinking of the contact with him, both physically and spiritually. Our hearts had chosen new friends. My husband once told me that our hearts chose our friends, not our heads. He is right.

For the past few years, Lucky has come to visit. He is a very sly horse and when he wants to walk, he does. His owners thought of renaming him Houdini. Considering the fact that he has made a friend who always welcomes him and spoils him with apples and sugar dipped carrots, regardless of the weather, a friend with a gentle hand who rides him safely home, I think Lucky needs to keep his name. Maybe I’ll change my name to Little Lucky.

My husband just mutters and shakes his head.
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