I discovered on our ride back, by reading his Canadian transport papers(which look a little sketchy--as in sketched in) that Hobbs is not five--he is three and a half (and that's a little bogus as well unless he really was born on January first 2006 with all the other thoroughbred three year olds) and he is not 15 hands--he is 15.2--and growing. He must already weigh 1200 heavy Percheron pounds. This is all fine except that my mantra said older, schooled--pony, and trust me, Hobbs ain't no pony.
All the horses in the barn snorted at his arrival. Hobbs spent lunchtime in his stall looking at them and then a couple of hours in the round pen with me where we scooped poop and chatted. He followed me from a distance, clearly unused to human overtures and still recalling the highs of hightailing it in the 90 acre field, occasionally trotting off to whinny or to slobber water from his bucket or to pee on his hay (weird). I kept up the conversation during the slow times, ate an apple and drank a coke. Hobbs had clearly never had a treat so the apple core had no draw for him until I tossed it in his hay and he said, " This is Apple? Bring 'em on."
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