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The alfalfa is… fine. It’s not great. But it’s not terrible.
As Gunter and I ride through the field, I note a couple of things. The weeds are out of control, which is going to drive down the value of the crop, eventually. That will have to be dealt with, but I refuse to use chemical weed control, so it’s going to have to be by hand. My dad really didn’t get the chance to burn out the ditches, so there’s barely any water getting to some of the big irrigation sprinklers. I decide to wait and see if they turn on to run properly, and in the meantime, see if I can’t pull some of the weeds out that are choking the ditch gates.
I’m arms deep in muck and roots when I hear Gunter make a low warning noise. I look up, and there’s a horse about fifty yards from us.
But not just any horse. This is the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen in my life.
It’s a bay roan. Thick, stocky with muscle, like it’s been lifting weights or something. It holds its head up high, tossing its mane, and gives Gunter a laser-focused look of pure hatred.
Oh. Shit.
I stand quickly, dropping the vegetation from my gloved hands. I make my way over to Gunter, standing in between him and the much younger, much stronger looking horse—who I have a feeling is a stallion, and who I have a feeling is real pissed to see us here.
“Easy,” I say, eying the horse. “Easy there, big boy.”
It stomps both feet, blowing loudly from its nostrils.
Gunter whickers, trying to shuffle back.
“It’s okay, guy, let me just…”
The sound of hoofbeats makes Gunter and I look up. In the distance, three shapes are absolutely hauling ass toward us.
I frown. Where the hell is the fence?
I grab Gunter’s reins, warily watching the stallion. He’s turned, ears forward, nervously shuffling on his feet.
My poor, sweet old man is so scared. And that pisses me off.
I drop the reins and wave at him. “Shoo. Go on, Gunter. I got this.”
The most loyal of gentleman horses, he looks at me, then nervously back at the stallion.
“I got this, guy.”
I turn and stomp forward, waving my arms. The three shapes are close enough now that I can see they’re three men on horseback. For a second, I wish I had grabbed the shotgun hanging up in the barn.
“Hey!” I yell, waving at the stallion. “Go! Get! Get out of here!”
The stallion, being a stallion, snorts at me and rears up. He’s still a fair distance away, but I’m not going to be intimidated by him. “Out!” I shout.
The stallion gives me a loud squeal, and I wave my arms again. “Stop it, you bully!”
“Lady, what the fuck are you doing?”
The three riders are close enough that I can see them now. Three men, each on a different horse. They’re about ten feet away from the stallion, putting us in a triangle: myself, the stallion, and them.
The stallion rears up at the men again, and lightning quick, two of the guys split off, circling it. One produces a rope, which he rather deftly tosses around the stallion’s neck. The stallion screams, tossing against the rope, and the other one loops another from the other side. Between the two of them, the horse fights, and for a second, it looks like he’s going to hurt himself.
“You dumbass!” I yell. “You’re hurting him!”
“Lady, that right there is our stallion, and we know what the fuck we’re doing,” the man barks back.
“You’re going to choke him!”
“Clint,” one of the guys yells. “He’s pretty fuckin’ mad.”
“Let him go!” I scream.
