The Gift

Today is not about the adventures or antics of Maximus Mischevus, wayward pony, but about the home-loving contented boy who makes me catch my breath with his displays of trust and affection.

I had intended to take him out for a walk after the yard work this morning, but he was having a big ol' snooze, curled up on his thick straw bed like a pussycat. We used to call it "Smauging" when Arizona did it, because the pose is so reminiscent of Smaug the dragon, from "The Hobbit", curled around his hoard of treasure.

At their most basic, primal level, horses are prey animals. Their overpowering instinct when alarmed will always be flight, not fight. When they are sleeping, they are at their most vulnerable.

So the fact that Max allows me into his space at all when he's in the Land of Nod is pretty awesome. That he'll let me sit by his head and talk to him while he looks drowsily on without any thought of scrambling to his feet to protect himself is a tribute to how safe he feels with me.

After our little chat, I told him he didn't have to get up, but I stood, slowly and quietly so as not to rouse him. I stood next to him and gave his neck a scratch under his mane. Max sighed, then leaned his head into my leg and went to sleep. Eyes closed, nose in the straw, proper sleep, while I continued to stand and play with his mane.

To say I was honoured doesn't begin to cover it. I stood like that with him for just shy of fifteen minutes, looking at this really quite huge creature nestled against me like a kitten. I felt like I was guarding him!

Max is my unicorn. The horn may be missing, but there's no shortage of magic.