It’s finally spring in New England. And the mares are in heat. Especially, Curly. She may 26 but she’s still a hussy. Freedom may be 20, but hedoesn’t want to let her out of his sight. In his mind, the girls are part of his harem. He’s always possessive of them, but in the spring it’s particularly true. If we take the girls away for a ride he runs the fence line like the ex-race horse he is. Freedom has a huge stride and he charges up and down the hill with abandon, calling frantically for them.
To keep the horses off the fence line we’ve strung a line of electric but that didn’t stop the girls from breaking through to get closer to Freedom. Mares in heat are a force of nature. When I showed up to feed, Zelda was stuck. The fence was still live. She didn’t have enough room to turn around. I’m not sure how long she’d been trapped there but she wasn’t agitated or disturbed. I guess she figured someone would show up to feed eventually. And in the meantime, she’s the closest to Freedom.