The saga continues

At dusk, we arrived at Friend's house and we started trying to figure out where to put said horse who she has decided is named Iggy. I have not yet thought through whether his name should be Iggy or not, but since she's calling him that, it has stuck.

There is already some existing fence in the pasture that we chose for Iggy, safely away from her other horses, but we weren't sure what shape it was in. So we decided to take the big country (like a beefed up golf cart) and drive around the fenceline to determine where it needed to be repaired. Iggy was still on the trailer, standing like a gentleman, I might add.

Did I mention that my back had been hurt to the point that I was in the ER from a fall that I had taken off of my younger, greener horse? It wasn't his fault though, it was the fault of one of those god-awful bomber flies that we call horse flies in the east. They are the devil incarnate, of that I am certain. This is him, for the record...his name is Rollo and he's a now 5 1/2 year old (approximate age) Belgian sporthorse gelding . This was prior to him being backed, he hadn't been handled much and he was a bit shy. He's a great guy and quite athletic for being as big as he is. If you haven't figured it out yet, I like my horses big...and looking a lot like overgrown ponies :)

So as we're jolting about in the big country, Friend and I are laughing and simultaneously gasping as the big country has poor brakes and it's getting progressively darker to the point that we are using a very large spotting flashlight to look for fencing that is down (or up, for that matter). This is not the most efficient way of also looking for things like holes in the pasture or dips that unexpectedly take you on Mr. Toad's wild ride, but we got it together and Iggy had his pasture. By about 10:30 pm. As you can imagine, it's now dark. Very dark.

Friend says "go get your horse"

My back is sore, I'm exhausted, I'm a cripple, I'm a whiner, and I realize that I am now terrified of whatever it is that is in that trailer because it is HUGE. Very huge and though said horse has been very quiet for the last 2 hours he's been stuck in an undersized trailer, I'm a bit worried about what is going to happen when he is released from said undersized trailer.

So I cautiously untied his lead rope from the inside of the trailer in the event of a pull back, and once I managed to figure out the trailer door, got the back of it open. Iggy, in all of his sweet Belgian grace, decided that he was going to turn around and NOT back out of the trailer. And, since I had let him decide by untying him first, well, I guess it was his perogative. I couldn't believe he tried it. And succeeded. Very slowly the large horse turned himself around and stepped out of the trailer.

Once in the pasture we walked him around a little to show him the rather professionally put together *ahem* fencing and let him loose. Far from doing...well...anything, he immediately stuck his head in the grass and began to graze.

I'm not a horse rescuer, though I've taken in my fair share of "we can't do anything with this horse can you ride him" animals. In fact, my confidence issues riding now are likely related to this because most of the horses I've had in the last 6 years have been either total greenies or whackos. This horse, however, looked so content and I felt so satisfied...whether Iggy ever is ridden or not, he's safe, eating grass and happy. Maybe he will only be sound for trail riding. Maybe he won't be sound at all (though he walks and trots out sound now). Maybe he'll be a pasture ornament....but he's MY pasture ornament. And I just adore him.