Salsa the Wonder Filly has nudged up in height a bit recently. The naked eye -- when carefully focused -- can detect a hair’s breadth of growth. I think.
My husband and I are overly keen in our observations in this regard, like parents following an adolescent daughter around every second waiting for the first sign a training bra is in order. Salsa’s daddy was an “anonymous donor” who hightailed it out of Dodge before he could be seen in the daylight, so we don’t have any idea about half of her genetics. I am 5'11, and I’m thinking it would be just my luck -- the one horse I’ve got that is obedient and sweet will grow to a size suitable for being ridden by circus monkeys.
So Doug and I scuttle up and down the fence line, stopping often and rocking back and forth from the knees to adjust our vision.
“I think I see something! Do you see something?”
“I think I do. Unless she’s standing on a hill, her hindquarters are higher than they were a month ago. I’m sure of it.”
“No worries then. She’s going to get taller.”
“You bet your sweet banana treats she is.”
We brace ourselves for the day our little girl stops munching grass, turns to us, blinking, and says, Excuse me Mom and Dad. A little privacy please?
