So I was watching, “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade” last night. There’s a scene where young Indiana Jones (played by River Phoenix) whistles and a horse comes running. The kid is preparing to jump off a ledge into the saddle, but just before he lands, the horse steps forward.
I had a flashback to that scene today, because Clifford was roaming around the yard while I cleaned stalls. I would look out the barn door periodically to make sure he was still in sight, and that the dogs weren’t harassing him.
Basically, since his knee was diagnosed as arthritic, I have treated him like an invalid. But today he shot twelve feet straight in the air, snorted and launched a pseudo battle with the dogs. He eyed them wickedly, swerving his hindquarters toward them and shooting heels in the air.
Cajun and Rip know it’s all a big joke, but they are careful of the heels. Clifford is clearly none the worse for wear. It doesn’t hurt that it’s sixty degrees here in Southeast Michigan.
I finished with the stalls, glanced out the barn door and didn’t see him.
“Clifford,” I said, in what amounted to a half-hearted yell. I knew he wasn’t far. I turned around to fill the water bucket, and I could hear his hoofs pounding over the soggy ground. Ta da DUMP, ta da DUMP, ta da DUMP, just like Indiana Jones’ horse.
He came clattering up the barn aisle, walked into his stall and stood rolling his eyes, nodding his head vigorously.
“Yeah, you’re cute.” I dumped his grain into his feed bin, rolled his door shut and snapped off the light.
I had no doubt that yes, he would move a step when I jumped.