Yesterday I was heading indoors when I looked up and noticed our delightful neighbor Theresa conversing over the fence with Miss Millie. 'Twas a pretty sight, but the camera battery was charging so Theresa was spared the intrusiveness of my sloppy photographic skills. With house slippers already on, I shuffled down the leaf-strewn driveway with care--actively avoiding any goose piles and steamy horse buns. The pair didn't need me to wander over--Millie was intent on every piece of carrot Theresa was offering, and was acting quite charming and social.
When I appeared to distract Theresa's attention, somehow Millie managed to knock a carrot piece off of the proffered palm and into the dry oak and hickory leaves underfoot. Mindless of her error, Millie requested more carrot delivered at her height--and Theresa readily obliged. I mused aloud that now I understood why the horses often graze along the fence strip, even though to do so means crossing the slippery driverway. But Theresa stated that this was the first time she had brought food to the fenceline. What do you know, I thought, those clever horses managed to lure an unsuspecting human out of her home laden with treats for them, just by being cute and available.
Once the carrott pieces were gone, Millie nudged Theresa for more only to receive a the admonition that the treats were gone except for "that piece, right there" on the ground. With her index finger Theresa gestured to make her point, but Millie doesn't listen so well and seized the opportunity--and the finger--to close her teeth over the hand that had just fed her. When Theresa squawked in alarm, I looked up to see her forefinger securely clamped between Millie's soft lips, but my neighbor was feeling the acute pressure of strong teeth over the first joint of that digit. I moved to swat at Millie and only made things worse because she started to move away without releasing her fleshy prize.
Soon Millie had moved off down the drive and poor Theresa was clutching her finger with her opposing hand, hesitant to look at the damage. "Oh, she couldn't have broken the skin," said I, only to be told that no, "She most certainly did." Uh oh, the situation was worse than I had first assessed. Allowed to look at the wound, I saw that indeed Theresa was right. Miss Millie, the hog, had ripped a chunk of skin along the side of that knuckle. Theresa was dispatched to her house to clean the wound, and I turned to Millie to tell the horse that she had blown a fine opportunity through her greediness. Theresa called back over her shoulder that no, she would be back and claimed that she had been at fault for Millie's rude behavior.
Such a trooper, that Theresa is resielient when it comes to facing farm-related injuries. Not ten minutes later I received a text saying that Theresa had brought more carrots to the fence and settled her disagreement with Millie. "It's cool," she wrote and meant it.
I'm not sure if I would have been so forgiving.
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