Hay is for Horses

Wayne McCoy · 03-21-2012, 04:30 PM

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Wayne McCoy

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The change in demeanor in the brownish wolfdog was obvious. He smiled faintly, which warmed the yellowish man’s spirits, and his posture improved as he became less stressed about the whole thing. He looked like he was enjoying himself—like the horse ride was therapeutic, which was the whole point since Wayne first asked him to help out. He made as if to scratch at his muzzle, but in reality, the cowboy was hiding a smile. Hadley looked like a king of horses greeting his subjects, or maybe the hollow shell of a once-king. He touched those who approached, letting Fern meander around the paddock, and finally he dropped down from the chestnut mare’s back.

The thanks had the cowboy grinning again with gentle satisfaction. “You’re welcome, Hadley,” Wayne replied, going to remove the tack from Fern. “Come back anytime, to help or to ride or to just say howdy to me or the horses.” His voice held nothing more than friendly suggestion behind it. He hoped to see the man again, but it didn’t matter if Hadley was more comfortable elsewhere. After the show with the short ride around the temporary corral, though, he knew this might be the best place for the former slave to work if he felt the need.

“I need to go see what Dixie’s doin’,” the man lied after a moment, smoothly looking over his shoulder. It would be nice to go see her now, but mainly he didn’t want Hadley to feel obligated to hang around if he wanted to go eat or rest. “I’ll see ya later, bud,” he said, tipping his hat, and vaulted over the fence to walk through Casa territory.

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