Brett was doing great yesterday. The back of his hand no longer looked like hamburger and his limp was pretty much gone. He felt well enough to start laying cement block in the trench he had dug, for another compost bin. We talked about riding together later in the week if it isn't too hot after I get home from work (the heat hangs in the air, sometimes).
I had an early meeting this morning so I was on the road, instead of helping, while Brett fed the animals breakfast. Each horse gets a small plastic tub (the size of a frying pan) in the mornings with a mix of their vitamins, any meds, fly repellent (vinegar and yeast, smells really strong) crumbles and a couple carrots. It sounds yucky, but the horses love it -- even Jackson who is very picky. Brett mixed up each of the bins and headed out to the pasture.
In the mare pasture, Lucy gets her bin first. This is not open for negotiation. Next to her, a few feet down, Pistol or Jackson get theirs. They take turns being in the second spot. This morning, Pistol was second. After putting hers down, Brett moved down another few feet, bent over, and set Jackson's bin in front of him. All three horses were lined up nice and neat and calm, the usual routine.
Except... Lucy got a bug up her butt, pinned her ears and swung at Pistol. Why? Lucy will tell you that it is royal prerogative and she doesn't need a reason. I've seen her pin her ears and charge Pistol when Lucy is bit by a fly. Is it fair? No. Lucy doesn't care. In this instance, Pistol wasn't going to wait for an explanation. She jumped sideways, away from Lucy, and smack into Brett -- bent over, putting down Jackson's bin. Brett went flying into the fence -- believe me, getting hit by a thousand pounds will send you flying. Over the years that we've had horses, I've been sent airborne twice and it isn't pleasant.
So, Brett is back in the house, sitting in his chair, popping ibuprofen. And I'm pretty sure he's cursing under his breath.