On Horses' Eyes and the Lady P.

I went out on my usual errand this evening armed with an apple and a carrot and more in hope than expectation. But guess what: not only was Millie there and approachable, but Cliff was there as well. I never noticed before how much bigger he is than Millie. If she’s sixteen hands, he has to be nearer seventeen. He’s a big horse, and he’s easily the softest of the three.

He was the one who came trotting over first and gave me a solid nudge in the forehead. (I assume that’s a sign of affection, but I might be wrong.) Anyway, the upshot was that they had half an apple and half a carrot each, and I came home with an empty pocket for a change. And then I learned something.

Cliff stood there looking at me, and something about the look in his eyes changed. I’d never thought of horses having facial expressions before. They have other forms of body language, but their faces are usually inscrutable. But I remembered having noticed before that they will sometimes have a wild look in their eyes if they’re scared or aggressive or suspicious. So it seems that horses do communicate with their eyes after all, and I suppose if you’re around them all the time you get to learn the code. (Cliff’s eyes seemed to say: ‘Call that a treat, because I don’t. Where’s the rest?’ But I might be wrong about that, too.)

On the walk back down the lane I got waved and smiled at again by the Lady B’s Dear Mama driving past me. I know I make a bit of a saga out of this, but it really does mean something to me. I always feel a little less fractured when I receive a smile and a wave from Dear Mama. There’s nothing swanky about her, you know. For all she’s Lady Penelope to my Boggis the Butler, she never pulls rank. (She never invites me for tea and muffins on the terrace either, but I’d probably only spill something if she did, so maybe it’s better that way.)