If we didn’t have verbal language, how would we communicate with one another? Would we use our hands, depend on facial gestures? Would, say, an armpit scratch indicate that we love someone? And if we pulled on our hair, would this mean that we might have itchy feet, meaning, have a yen for travel. And would open hands mean we have no money? Or would this mean that we’ve run out of ideas?

I think that if we didn’t communicate verbally, we’d pay closer attention to the other ways in which we do communicate with others. Those who lose their vision are more attuned to sound, and those who lose their hearing are more attuned to sight. Perceptions of remaining senses are heightened when other senses are lost or diminished.

The three mares lined up at their targets

What brings this to mind is that I am again at a loss for words. I have spent 15 minutes here, wondering what to write about. I know to write for surprise, and the above did surprise me. But after I wrote it, I stalled out like a car with 300,000 miles on it.

Well, as with doing dishes, I’ll begin at the beginning. Got Raudi out for a walk this morning, stopping every so often to tell her what a good, good horse she is. She generally ignores the complements or pretends to ignore them. I’d like to think she’s pretending to ignore them. She no longer, as she used to, run off in the direction of home when we are on our walks, so perhaps she feels odd, like something is missing when we get too far apart.

Being with the horses is calming. If I’m not too deep in thought, I feel great joy. And so, I also wonder, do they too feel joy when they are with me? And when I break into song, do they hear my off-tune voice and feel slightly irritated? Or do they breathe a sigh of relief and think that since all is right in my world that all will remain right in their world?

A few weeks ago, when I was pen cleaning, I left the gate open and they all charged out of their enclosure. I was inexplicably pissed. I tried repeatedly to catch them all, but they all evaded me. I got increasingly more frustrated. And as my frustration level rose, they got more boisterous.

I finally gave up and went into the pen and resumed pen cleaning. And one by one, they came back into the enclosure and resumed eating their hay. Lesson learned: horses can smell frustration. They also pick up on our increased breathing, as well as our facial expressions. These mares, they were having considerable fun at my expense.

Once they were back in their enclosure, I gave each one a neck scratch.

Tomorrow is going to be a good day. I’m staying at home and taking them for walks or rides (its Stuporbowled Sunday), and I’m going to clean the goat pen. And maybe at the day’s end, I’ll have a story to tell. Or maybe not.

Next: 40. 2/11/24: A Day at Home