my writings
 

I do not have anything related to TMNT but I would like to display some of my writings. If it does get moved to Fan Works....that is ok

Sights, Sounds, and Smells of a Horse Barn

The vivid Texas summer sunset blazed: Like colors of an artist's masterpiece, oranges spilled across the horizon gently pouring their juices over the layers of pink and red, and finally settling onto a sun, the color of a Texas yellow rose. As I peacefully strolled to my horses' home admiring this spectacular sunset, I knew that I had an arduous but thoroughly enjoyable task ahead of me: taking care of my four faithful equine friends, a long-legged thoroughbred and three short stocky quarter horses.

My horses warmly greeted me by their nickers and neighs. They have always welcomed me into their cozy home knowing that whenever I arrived food always seemed to follow. My whisper of flattery and a shiny red apple pampered each one. Foamy apple juice dripped on the barn floor as they devoured the fruit immediately. I walked into the feed room and opened two new bags of fresh crimped oats and sweet feed. The anxious banging of hooves and the scraping of teeth on the heavy metal stall doors told me to hurry in pouring the sticky matter in the tall feed bin. I quickly poured some of the appetizingly fragrant feed into the white feed buckets that were carefully labeled with each horse's name and feed amount. The heavy metal stall doors were still warm from the hot Texas summer day. Carefully the feed was poured into the ill-shaped, cracked, and scratched buckets. While my horses were hungrily eating their suppers I could hear their rough tongues licking the feed and grinding of grain between their teeth.

The accumulation of fresh manure in the dusty summer shade of the stalls was vast. I scooped and hurled it into the rusty wheelbarrow. It took more toil than necessary since the only rake I could find was a well-worn red rake with many tines missing. The rakes become brittle from the hot, humid summers and cold winters. It is a dirty job but somebody has to do it, I thought to myself. For once this was really true. While cleaning one of my horse's stall, I noticed that Chipper, an old ranch-style quarter horse, was finished with his dinner and snorting at me with his big nostrils to let him free. I fetched his old worn green halter dangling off the hook near his stall. The strap was faded and stiff from the many jobs it had performed; it had seen places like the dusty floor of the tack room, the wet rainy days on a fencepost, even the inside of a horse's mouth. Chipper's arthritic body lumbered out to the pasture with the aged halter slipped over his head.
Upon quickly returning to the barn I noticed that Patrick, my intelligent quarter horse, had freed himself from his stall once again. Oh, Patrick, why do you do this to me? I moaned as I scurried to get his old burgundy halter with the knotted chewed lead rope and returned to capture the escape artist. He made it an ordeal for me; he was really too smart for his own good and refused to be caught. The Houdini arrogantly trotted away when the gate swung open.

Lucky, my first riding partner, crippled by lameness that damaged his limbs but not his big heart was the successive animal to be retrieved. He came out limping as usual but excited to be able to get out in the pasture to stretch his aching legs. The last horse to be put out, still peacefully munching on his meal, was my current partner, a tall lazy thoroughbred named Oliver. A big dead repulsive rat lying in the middle of the barn promised to ruin my otherwise lovely evening. Oh, gross! I scooped it up with a nearby shovel and dumped its limp body on top of the manure cart.

Finally Oliver was finished with his meal and ready to go out with the other horses. Good now I could finish the stalls! The empty hayracks seemed to beg for the fresh green hay delivered yesterday. I piled it high. It smelled clean and sweet like a clear summer day of sunshine. My old tack stacked in the corner deserved my attention. A thorough cleaning with greasy saddle soap and smelly saddle oil was the answer! I had the saddle almost since the day I began riding; it and I have seen a lot of long hard riding lessons, horse shows, and occasional trail rides.
Sometimes I consider my horses to be some of my best friends. They each have their own personalities. Each one has its own way of communicating with me; from Oliver's teeth scraping on his door, Lucky's trusting eyes, Chipper's loud snorting, and Patrick's licking and pawing. I realize that knowing them has changed my life forever and will help shape my future.