Maisy

 Maisy

On this cold morning with the snow softly falling, I am observing the sparrows, cardinals, blue jays and squirrels, hungrily devouring the mixed bird seed that Jim scatters on the asphalt for them every morning. We even have a resident rabbit who partakes in one or two meals on our driveway and it is enjoyable to see all these creatures co-exist without squabbling as they all enjoy some nourishment they didn't have to forage for on their own.

As I look across the vineyards, I am reminded of a different critter that the kids and I used to visit and feed. The farmer down the road who owns the land behind the vineyards, used to pasture his sheep in the fields and move them to various locations every few days. One summer, he must have rescued an old mare from certain demise and I know that her last year on earth must have been enjoyable surrounded by the sunshine and greenery everywhere. He cordoned off a small area for her and the horse could be seen from dusk until dawn, a dark shape against the background of the escarpment.

After calling the farmer's wife and inquiring whether it was safe to visit the horse, she told me that Maisy was quite friendly and to go at any time. And so the kids and I made the short trek across the road and the fields to visit her fairly regularly.

Now my experience with horses growing up was limited to the annual pony rides at the Virgil Stampede. I had no idea what to expect and I have to admit that her sheer size was slightly intimidating. We began to bring her pieces of fruit as a treat and I often had to pull myself together as those massive, yellowed teeth took our offering from my hands. Each time I pulled back quickly in fear of having her mistake my fingers as part of her treat!

One evening, my best friend brought her two boys over and we all decided to visit our "resident" horse. The boys had been chucking un-ripened apples that had fallen from the trees at each other. So I decided to put them to better use and we collected them instead to take as a snack for dear, old Maisy. 

Maisy watched with uncertainty as a parade of five over-zealous children and two adults marched across the field toward her, disturbing her peace and quiet. But once we got up close and her curiosity got the better of her, she came up to the edge of the makeshift fence to greet us.

After some persuasion, the boys offered her one of the smallest apples they had in their possession. She took it from them and they squealed at how disgusting her mouth was and jumped around in excitement. She observed them without expression, but seemed to be chewing the little apple very slowly, almost distastefully. I then gave her one of the large, green apples which she took from me without hesitation. But it must have been so tart that she started whipping her head back and forth in protest, her teeth bared, and white, foamy juice and apple pieces flying everywhere. We all shrieked and jumped back as horse spit showered us, a true payback for giving her such a sour treat. 

Once at a safe distance, we wiped Maisy's remnants off of our clothes. But we couldn't stop laughing at her expression as she eyed us and we stared back with uncertainty and a little regret. She was not happy with us! We headed back home and everyone stopped at the garden hose to wash off any Maisy bits before the kids ran off to play.

Poor Maisy. I'm not exactly sure what happened to her. I know that she joined the sheep and goats to spend the winter in the safety of the barn. But the next spring, Maisy was nowhere to be seen. 

So as I look over the fields this morning, the spot where Maisy used to spend her days is now planted with vines that are covered in snow. Another generation of sheep and goats are spending the winter in the safety of the same barn. But my kids still talk about Maisy. Though we had no ownership, they felt as if she was their horse. We still remember the horse spit shower and laugh. And that is priceless. 

Lolita Schimann Hale