Musing on the subject of prey/predator. Little me, the ' scary predator' with a measly orange stick, scaring a strong, young and healthy horse who has a big attitude with larger horses than himself, is the dominant horse in the field over all.
He could kick me, run me over, bite me--I'm just a wimpy 51 yr old woman who aches all over that just wants to hug and kiss her pony and go for long rides and feed him treats. If horses know what happens before it happens and can read us like books, etc etc etc--then why doesn't my young handsome steed read the truth of me? There's nothing to fear from me and my stupid stick. Sheesh. V
