Do You Hear What I Hear?

The rich fragrance of molasses and hay assaulted my nose as I entered the dimly lighted barn. The horses whinnied and shuffled in their stalls as I walked down the center isle, the clicking of my boots echoing off the high rafters of the loft above. At the end stall one horse in particular was making a big fuss, kicking up dirt and hay. There was grit in my teeth and an earthy taste from the dust I inhaled with every breath. The horse's panicked voice was muffled by a metal restraint he had about his nose. While keeping my eyes on the horse I undid the cool metal latch of the stall door and let myself into the small space. My fingers quickly wrapped around the rough nylon of his halter and pulled his head towards me. With one hand still holding the halter, I used my other to undo the too-tight straps of the muzzle and let the contraption fall to the ground with a thud. First thing he did was wrench away from me and go out the back door and start grazing. Obviously, some horses just can't be trained to wear a muzzle.