Ax is your stereotypical Warmblood gelding—big and dopey. While I often joke that not much goes on in his little brain inside his tiny head, I imagine his thoughts are entirely about food, being lazy, and being distracted by shiny objects. I love him, but he isn’t exactly the sharpest crayon in the box.
Welcome to Ax’s inner monologue.
HI! HI! HI! DO YOU HAVE COOKIES? I know you have cookies—let me check your pockets! Oh. You don’t have any. Why are you here?
Must shove head into halter and try to eat the lead rope before walking. That is my favorite part.
WAIT, I am starving and have never eaten before and I need some grass NOW. But not the grass right here, I need the grass way over there. Come ON!
Ugh, I hate the cross ties. I must walk forward, all the way to the end of them, so that I can paw on the loud cement and not the rubber mats—those things muffle the sound of my expensive shoes scraping the ground too much. Mom loves it. She even comes running up to me every time I do it.
She’s picking my back hooves. Time to poop. And swish my tail in her face.
TREATS! I will bend into a pretzel for treats and almost fall over while doing all of my stretches because I LOVE TREATS!
Please don’t touch my ears. AHHH YOU TOUCHED THEM! Stop. I hate this. Why are you torturing me?
Must. Stop. And. Smell. Everything. On. The. Walk. To. The. Outdoor. Oops, I tripped. When did this downhill slope get here?
I hate standing at the mounting block. Mom always says “DON’T MOVE” but I walk away the second she swings her leg over anyway. Heh.
Stretchy trot. I love stretchy trot. I love to go too fast while stretchy trotting so Mom has to say “woah” every stride. I try to listen to her, but I forget what she said so I go fast again. I love stretchy trot.
WOAH. I saw a horse-eating bunny.
Trotting. Trotting. Trotting. Collected trotting? I must slow down. I am crawling. I am the master of trotting so slow and bouncy. Look at me. Oops, I tripped.
What is poking me? That’s annoying. Oh, is Mom trying to tell me something? I guess I can trot faster and pick up my feet, but only if I can pretend to be a trampoline. And only for a few strides because I forget and Mom has to remind me again.
YAY, WE ARE CANTERING. MUST. SNORT. IN. EXCITEMENT. EVERY. STRIDE.
Wow, I am tired. Walking is nice. Why is Mom so out of breath? Was she not snorting in tune with me? What happens if I just stop walking? OH, BAD IDEA. Don’t stop walking or mom will kick you while you ignore her and then poke you. Oops, I tripped.
Walking back to the barn is my favorite. Oh look, I saw something shiny! Oops, I tripped again.
Why does she take so many pictures? I should put my ears back so she knows that I hate standing here. Wait, did I just hear a cookie in your pocket?