Discriptive Essay of a Horse
Merlin
I walk into his stable; my heart sinks as I see no progress in the depressed and temperamental horse in the corner. His stable is true comfort. It is deep with sweet smelling wood shavings and a huge bowl of luscious green teff. A small wooden window lets in the crisp winter air and the bright morning light. How can this not appease his rotten mood? His eyes are still miserable; his head is low with his pendulous lip brushing the bedding. His disconnection with life is questionable; is he going to get any better? Yet there is something that my heart is clinging onto. He has an angelic beauty about him with his furry, downy shiny white coat and mottled grey dapples that hug his hindquarter. I watch as he walks in an unhurried manner to the gate of the stable taking no notice of me, just wanting to go out and graze. Before he gets past me I caught him at which he pinned his ears back and gave me a horrid expression; I ignore him and carry on about my business of catching him.
As I placed the saddle onto his back he dipped, showing sensitivity, and while I did up the girth around his belly I could see he was uncomfortable. I pulled it up to the first hole, then the second and as I was about to do the third he shot his head around and nipped me on my shoulder warning me that that the tightness around his stomach is sore. I checked his feet for any stones in case it may be his feet hurting him…all I noticed were the unusual shoes the farrier had made for him. They were called bar shoes, apparently to help support his heels, as previously he had been terribly shod. The farrier described to me that what he was experiencing during that time was like running in a pair of high heels two sizes too small.
I walked outside choosing to get on from a mounting-block so as to not hurt his back. He was fine until we entered the arena, at which point I could feel him tensing underneath me, his back going as stiff as an ironing board, he stood dead still refusing to move
I walk into his stable; my heart sinks as I see no progress in the depressed and temperamental horse in the corner. His stable is true comfort. It is deep with sweet smelling wood shavings and a huge bowl of luscious green teff. A small wooden window lets in the crisp winter air and the bright morning light. How can this not appease his rotten mood? His eyes are still miserable; his head is low with his pendulous lip brushing the bedding. His disconnection with life is questionable; is he going to get any better? Yet there is something that my heart is clinging onto. He has an angelic beauty about him with his furry, downy shiny white coat and mottled grey dapples that hug his hindquarter. I watch as he walks in an unhurried manner to the gate of the stable taking no notice of me, just wanting to go out and graze. Before he gets past me I caught him at which he pinned his ears back and gave me a horrid expression; I ignore him and carry on about my business of catching him.
As I placed the saddle onto his back he dipped, showing sensitivity, and while I did up the girth around his belly I could see he was uncomfortable. I pulled it up to the first hole, then the second and as I was about to do the third he shot his head around and nipped me on my shoulder warning me that that the tightness around his stomach is sore. I checked his feet for any stones in case it may be his feet hurting him…all I noticed were the unusual shoes the farrier had made for him. They were called bar shoes, apparently to help support his heels, as previously he had been terribly shod. The farrier described to me that what he was experiencing during that time was like running in a pair of high heels two sizes too small.
I walked outside choosing to get on from a mounting-block so as to not hurt his back. He was fine until we entered the arena, at which point I could feel him tensing underneath me, his back going as stiff as an ironing board, he stood dead still refusing to move