111. Hammer and tongs

An interesting aspect of the stall-door fix is Gus’s response as he witnesses the work firsthand.  It’s late afternoon when the repair crew arrives, and while husband evaluates the damage, friend and son come into the arena for a lovely floorshow from Gus, showing off his basketball, pram, and pedestal tricks.  When we finish and he’s greeted his adoring fans, we head toward his stall, where he seems deeply interested in the carpentry procedures.

But once the drill and hammer start up — and perhaps once the human contingent grows to include me and Sandy and the three helper-outers, plus briefly two others who visit their horses in the same aisle — Gus gets fussy.  I lead him outside to soothe his savage breast by grazing on the meager, matted, frozen grass alongside the barn wall.  When we return, he’s clearly of two minds:  he wants to barge into his stall for hay and possibly (it’s that time) his dinner grain, yet he also wants to get away from the noise and commotion.  He pulls back, he pulls ahead.  He yanks the rope from my hand, spins, and trots a few paces out into the driveway.  He lets me bring him back in.  I refill my apron with treats and even bring out the saltine crackers, and we play stationary games like head-down and the-grownups-are-talking and pirouette.  These distract him pretty well, but he’s still antsy and dancy.

When the tools are packed up and the crowd disperses, I wonder how Gus will approach his stall.  No problem:  he strolls right in, shoves his snout into his grain bucket, and chomps his hay without a care in the world.  I can only imagine the scene sometime later, when he idly strolls over to the formerly battered door and tries his luck shoving it.  Curses, he’ll say, in donkeyese; foiled again!