I think I’m a mare.
There’s a difference between the geldings and me, but I don’t know what it is.
All I know is I like geldings more than mares. You should try to sniff mares: they get stiff, roll their eyes, neigh high, and, eventually, they kick you.
The gray gelding is so wise and deep. He’s only second to the trainer in teaching me about things, but I would never ask him to scratch my withers. The trainer scratches it without asking, so it’s easy.
Then there’s the sorrel gelding I meet in the aisle after work, when I’m waiting for someone to take that stinky stuff off my back. He always stretches his neck and lips to tackle my flanks, and tries to find my itchy spots…
You know when you have a bunch of grain in your manger, and you don’t know which kind you like best? I start by picking out the round ones, and then I go for the longer grains, the ones with the pointed tips. I always save the dark strips for last. When the bottom of my manger is hidden under a layer of those sweet strips, I know I’m close to that great feeling. It’s like that scratching game with the sorrel gelding.
I’ve never had that kind of experience with mares or humans.
My hunger for the sorrel gelding is like my hunger for the sweet strips…and I whinny softly.
Yes, I’m a mare.