Tuesday, March 22, 2016
see is for caballos
I live in the country.
Certainly, this is a little town. But it is a country town. Just as much as any English village.
Chickens. Peacocks. Goats staked in front of my house. Herds of goats wandering the streets on their way to the next vacant lot or birria pot. And horses.
There are a number of horses around town who are regularly staked out on an overgrown plot to daydream of genes that once lived in ancestors ridden by conquerors. They are the equivalent of roof dogs.
My neighborhood is no exception. My neighbors are an entrepreneurial lot owning several businesses. Restaurant. Child care center. Water bottle vendor. Plastic recycling. And recently, owner of a slightly decrepit palomino.
When I first saw the horse, I was not surprised. It could have been a good business deal.
But I suspect it appealed to their humanitarian instincts. They own several dogs who they have nursed back from the shores of the Styx. The most recent was a mother dog who had fallen into our inoperative sewer system and injured her leg.
About 4:30 this morning I took Barco out to the lot across the street to let him relieve the pressure in his bladder. At my age, I can easily empathize with the discomfort.
Even though we do this every morning, he woke me up a bit early. When I opened the front door, I saw why. Looming in the dawn were two very large and dark horses. It is no wonder that the Indians were impressed by the conquistadors' mounts. They were the very embodiment of power.
At first, I thought they were staked. They weren't. They had either jumped a fence or broken their leads. Either way, there they were. Beautiful beasts.
Barco is in awe of horses. Well, to be truthful, he is in awe of cows and opossums, as well. But horses really catch his attention. He sat for a few minutes watching them, and eventually took care of business.
The horses were gone when Barco, La Güera, and I struck out for our morning constitutional in the sports park. When we returned, the horses were back. Even more awe-inspiring in the light of day.
Last August, when I went into semi-retirement from life, I stopped carrying my camera with me on my daily outings. But this morning I had a plan. I would put Barco away and get my camera from the bedroom. After all, the horses did not appear to be in a hurry to get to a battle.
La Güera had different ideas. The horses looked as if they might be a threat to Barco, and she is very diligent in carrying out her nanny duties. So, she chased them off in a flurry of racing hooves and dust.
Dogs are not very fond of change -- especially if it involves introducing strangers into the social mix. If they could vote, they would always choose the "secure the border" candidate. Barco, on the other hand, would invite everyone in. I suspect when his testicles finally drop (and the process has started), his viewpoint will change.
Instead of a photograph of horses, you get another shot of the house with no name nestled under my Mexican Eiffel Tower on a fine crisp morning here at the Pacific coast.
Choosing to live in Mexico has to be the best choice I have made in my life.