NEAT FREAKED, PART 1
**author's note: this is purely a FICTIONAL story. The author wishes to emphasize that NO ONE should even THINK of doing anything like what is depicted. I would NEVER do anything like this to any animal. Neither should you.**
She had a tic. An invasive tic; but people had learned to accept it when they had met her. Her name was Maggie. She was a superb pure Egyptian Arab, with a bay body and flaxen mane and tail. She was the envy of the entire stable, and visitors always stopped to admire her as she floated around in her stall. She was perfect: well-mannered, obedient and attentive. She loved children and never passed up an opportunity to make friends with newcomers.
One thing that struck people as almost comedic about her was what her owners called her "neatness tic". Everything had to be just so, or she was unhappy. When she lied down, she always made sure her rug was on properly and well set on her back. Otherwise she would fret with it until she was happy. The owners simply would smile with an air of "she's hopeless" on their faces. Then, she would give her neck a shake to "arrange" her mane, and stretch out happily to doze off. She readily accepted a helping hand when there was one around. She proceeded in much the same way when she got up; she would get up, shake herself vigorously to get rid of as much shavings as possible, then straighten her rug with her teeth. Then, and ONLY then, would she consent to be led out of her stall. When she was being groomed, there also, she insisted on helping with the cleaning. After the curry-comb was passed over her body and it had loosened all the dead hairs, the rider would then step back and say: "Okay, Maggie, go for it." and she would lower her head and shake herself almost violently, sending a cloud of brown, black and golden hairs up. Her shaking was so intense that sometimes her feet would spread out ever-so-slightly, making a grating noise on the concrete of the stable floor. Then, she would raise her head and prick her ears, and the rider would proceed with the grooming. Since she was a favorite of the stable, everyone trusted her and nobody ever cross-tied her. When she was returned to her stall, she would wait patiently for the rider to remove the halter and hang it on the door. If it was hung improperly, she would stretch her neck out and snort very gently into his or her ear, and she would only enter her stall when she was satisfied with the rider's job.
One day, she noticed a change in the mood around the stable. Something was going on. She poked her head out of her door and whinnied as she saw the owners come in. They came up to her and stroked her head. "We'll be leaving town for a week, Maggie, but don't worry, we'll be back soon. We hired a young man who will take care of all of you while we're gone, so be good, okay?" She gave an indignant snort as a response, as though to say "what? You think I'M going to misbehave?!" The couple chuckled and left. She watched them get into their pick-up truck and drive away from her. She couldn't help but feel a little lonely. She had no time to dwell on it, though. In came a young boy with his hair all mussed up and she could smell he hadn't washed in days. There was instant animosity between them, but she did her best to act friendly and happy. He responded hostilely. He had been told about this horse and did his best to annoy her. He cleaned her stall last, he was very sloppy when he fed her, he denied her her "grooming shake", he cross-tied her, and WORST of all, he hung her halter all wrong on the stall door. When he hung it wrong the first time, she snorted in his ear, but he twirled around and gave her a resounding slap on the nose. Amazed and surprised, she threw her head up and backed up in her stall. She decided to return the favor in her own way. She extended a foreleg and gingerly rubbed her sore nose against it, ignoring his scornful laughter, then, she turned around and looked out the window. She flicked her tail. The end of it whipped the boy in the face. He yelled "hey!" and rubbed his cheek angrily. "So, that's how you want to play, is it?" he growled and picked up the pitchfork. He opened her stall door and advanced towards her. He scooped up some dirty shavings and flung them at her, and she backed up out of their way. He did it again and again until he had cornered her. Then, he proceeded to jab her with his weapon until she bled. She was tossing her head and trying to escape, but without luck. Suddenly, she half-reared and hit him between the legs with her right foreleg. He doubled over in pain and she seized the opportunity. She grabbed him by the seat of the pants and half-dragged him out of her stall. Then, she stuck her head between the bars and pushed her door closed. Feeling safer, she walked over to the pitchfork, stepped on the metal end and grabbed the wood handle between her teeth. She proceeded to feed the weapon through the bars, dropping it just beside the boy. She had won, but not without injury. She gently licked her puncture wounds. The boy did not leave her alone, though. Throughout the rest of the week, he made life hell for her. On several occasions, he rode her so hard that she was breathing hard and fast and was covered in sweat when he was done. He did not walk her cool. He simply dismounted and yanked her out of the arena. The first time, she managed to break free from him, and cantered back to the arena, where she set herself on a slow walk to cool down. He soon caught up to her, though, and forced her back to her stall without grooming her. She walked herself dry and lay down, exhausted.
The next day, feeling tired and dirty, she woke up to the smell of smoke. She got up and DID NOT shake herself. She was too tired to. She saw the boy with a cigarette in his hand, mucking out stalls at the other end of the stable. She ate what little food she had been given, and stood with her head hanging low, her energy lost. An hour later, she woke to the sound of distant tires coming home. She felt revitalized and decided to expose this tyrant for who he was. She was lucky. He had unlocked the door with the intention of doing her stall next, but had been side-tracked and left his loaded wheel-barrow full of manure and such right beside her stall. She opened her door silently and stole out. She knocked over the wheel-barrow as quietly as she could and spread it's contents around. She returned to her stall and closed the door just as the boy returned. He gasped at the mess and she took advantage of his surprise to snort his cigarette off the tack box. He caught her and immediately picked it up. Smouldering with rage, he made a move towards her, and she pretended to cower in the corner. He had no time to do anything to her. Just as he was reaching for his pitchfork, the owners came in and gasped at the mess that was there. "What the hell is going on here?!" Growled the man. The boy was so taken aback that he could only stammer. The woman rushed up and looked into the stall. Her prized horse was pacing the floor, with her ears pressed back and her eyes wide and frightened. The woman threw the door open and gently approached the horse, speaking softly and soothingly to her. She reached up and grabbed the halter (that the horse wasn't supposed to be wearing anyhow) and held the horse's head down while she spoke gently and pet her neck. The horse started to calm down and stopped pacing. She stopped rolling her eyes and brought her ears forwards. She relaxed and hung her head against her owner's chest while the woman continued to pet her and soothe her. She moved around to the horse's side and ran her hand gently along her barrel, finding the scabs of the pitchfork wounds in the process. "John, come see this" she called over to her husband. He came in. "Look at her. She's got dried sweat all over her body, and look at this" she said, pointing to the scabs. "He must have attacked her!" John's anger boiled over. "All right, that's it!!" he bellowed. Maggie raised her head in surprise. "Out! Get out! Don't ever come back here again, you hear?!?" he yelled at the boy and pointed a finger at the door. "But, but Sir, you don't understand..." the boy protested "OUT!!!!!!!!!!" he hollered and the boy stomped off.
The horse smiled to herself. She had won.
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