The trainer left again. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but I went to play with Claire. She has a new strange habit when she enters the arena: she pulls me behind her until we reach a place where the sun sometime enters. I can hear cats crying there, and she seems to like it. I never saw the cats, but they sound exactly like the ones we have in the stable.
I talked to the gelding about it. “Oh… that’s music, you have get used to it.”
“Why should I get used to cat crying?”
“It’s not crying… they sing.”
I went to my corner, hung my head, and tried to figure out what Claire expected me to do with that noise. It’s so hard to learn how to be a show horse!
The next day, I watched the cats walking up high, on top of the stall doors. They always have their noses in the air, and their tails are strange, useless for shooing the flies. I was convinced the cats had no other use than being chased by the dogs, but… the wise gelding said they sing music…
This morning, Claire pulled me in front of the boxes again and let me stand there, listening. “Good girl…” she said, petting my neck. “It’s loud…”
I sniffed at the box, moving it a little, but couldn’t see anything special.
Back at the stable, I stood tied up in the aisle. The gray gelding looked out of his stall. “How was it?” he asked.
“Easy… I just don’t understand…”
“…how they all fit in that tiny box…”