The Horse and the Goat
July 2010

	Once upon a time, there was a horse who lived on a certain farm, where the grass was sweet, and where the water in her trough was fresh every morning.  She was a slender horse, with a soft white coat, and a silky mane, and she spent her days in the front pasture dining on  flowers.  People came every day, to admire her beauty.  They patted her neck, and spoke words of worship to her.  Most days this was enough, and when she was happy she would prance around the pasture with her mane flying like a flag. 
	The people who owned her were not cruel to her, but they had no sense of fun.  Every week, they lured her to them with promises of corn husks, and honeyed grain, and they tied her to the back fence so they could wash her.  One day, after she had finished her daily dust bath, the masters called to her again. She shook her mane at them, and stamped her hoof.  She would not submit to the tyranny of the hoof pick.  But the masters were cunning.  They laid out a salt block, knowing it was her greatest weakness.
	She approached carefully, ready to run, but the masters patted her nose, and stroked her mane, and she forgot herself.  They could be gentle, and at times they treated her with as much reverence as her daily worshipers.  One of them, a young girl who wore horses on her clothes, sometimes came by herself to braid flowers in the horse's mane.  When the horse bent her head, for a quick lick of the salt, the girl slipped a halter over her head, and tied her to the gate.
	She whinnied and tossed her head, but the rope held fast.  She was stuck, and the masters were going into the barn to fetch their soap.  As they vanished inside, there was movement to her left, and the farm goat appeared.  He was a scruffy, ill-tempered billy, with matted fur, and ground down stubs on the top of his head where his horns had been cut off.  He had never been washed.  Every time the masters got near, he butted them with the stubs of his horns.  The horse had never liked him because of the way he smelled, but when he looked at her, she could see the sympathy in his eyes.
	"There's no need for you to be tied up, if you're clever," said the goat.
	"You think I haven't tried? I've bucked, and I've pulled, and it does no good. The halter hurts my nose," said the horse.
	"Push your salt block over, and I will show you," said the goat.
	The horse was reluctant.  The treat had been meant for her, not the goat.  But she could see no other way, and she pushed the block over with her muzzle.  The goat sniffed it, and nibbled at the salt with his blunt, yellow teeth, while the horse fretted in at the rope.
	"They're coming back," she said.
	She could see the dim shapes of the masters in the barn door, as they filled a bucket with warm, soapy water.  Her skin itched at the thought of being washed clean of the soothing dust, and she longed for her flowers, and the field of thistles that lay beyond.
	"Next time, you should think more carefully. Learn from your mistakes," said the goat.
	He grabbed the end of the rope with his teeth, and jerked his head in a complicated, sideways, up-and-down motion.  The horse tried to watch, to learn what he did, but the way he moved made her dizzy.
	There was a clang from the barn, that reminded the horse of stiff-bristled scrubbing brushes, and she reared again.  This time, the rope slipped free from the gate, and slapped lightly against her forelegs.  The goat had already turned his attention back to the salt, but she caught the gleam of self-satisfaction in his slotted eyes.
	"Nobody remembers about goats," he said.
	"I will. Next time," said the horse.
	But by the time she'd reached her favorite corner of the field, all she remembered were her flowers, and the soft patch of dusty earth under the oak, where she could lie in anticipation of a handful of sweet oats, and a pat on the nose.