The Horse, being a horse, loves food. The Horse loves oats. He also loves barley. He loves that he gets a scoop of oats in winter so that his energy levels are just right.
The Horse has feathered friends. He has two feathered friends which the employees at the yard are still debating the names of, so I just call them The Chickens – notice the trend of laziness extends to the naming of all animals.
The Chickens love The Horse because he has oats and barley, which they can steal the left overs of from his feeds. But The Chickens are smart and somehow always know when I am at the yard, as well as which noises I find most endearing.
Thus, a common pattern of events occurs; I arrive at the yard and greet The Horse, turning around I find a Chicken looking at me with keen eyes, slowly approaching me with all the demeanour of a dog politely begging for a morsel of human food.
“No Chicken, you get enough food.”
“Baaawwkbawk bawkbawk bawk.”
“I know you know where it is, that doesn’t mean you’re getting any.” I try to distract myself with The Horse by grooming him. This works for seconds before The Horse notices the Chicken.
“There’s a chicken!”
“What? Stop moving.”
“There’s a chicken in my room! What does it want?”
“Brrrok bawkbawkbawk?”
“Don’t come in here Chicken, you’ll get squished. You know The Horse struggles with four legs.”
“Brrrok.” the Chicken peers at me with beady little eyes, bobbing and sashaying at the stable entrance until it has me entranced.
“Ok Fine! Where’s your friend?”
“Can I have some?!” The Horse interjects.
“No.”
“Baaawwkbawk bawkbawk bawk.”
I lift the lid off the bin and grab a handful of oats, trying to fend off The Horse with elbows, butt and legs as he suddenly becomes agile and serpentine in his desire to stick his face in the oats, whilst also trying not to step on the over eager Chicken. I drop the oats in a small pile and the Chicken dives in, cooing, purring and clucking as she scoffs down the grain.
“All I need to do… is open… this… lid…” *clunk*
I shake my head and turn to deter The Horse in his attempts to raid the feed bin, and when I look back I see the other Chicken has arrived, both of them making sounds of chicken ecstasy.
The Horse is unimpressed, he looks at me pleadingly and tries to reach to where The Chickens are eating. I laugh “You have to work for yours Horse.”
“Please, just a little bit!” He pouts.
“Don’t think looking cute will help either!”
I make The Horse back up and continue grooming him.
Silly Chickens.