MISC: The Girl Who Saved the World Part 48

[George Phillies]

I momentarily remembered a peculiarity of history.  There are perfectly 
adequate numbers of references, a few thousand years ago, that if you 
leave a horse with a big pile of barley it will eat itself to death. 
Modern horse breeders think horses are not that stupid.  I decided not 
to call the horses while I mucked out the barn.  Some work was needed. 
The weather had been bad enough that the horses had taken shelter for a 
day or so.  Medico said ‘emphatic yes’ on the work as exercise; it kept 
various bad things from happening where I had deep bruises.  Every so 
often, I simply had to stop until the pain receded. Cleaning was a real 
chore, even with the robot wheelbarrow, because I really had to lift 
everything close to one-armed. Spreading hay afterward was also not a 
great deal of fun. Yes, telekinesis would’ve made it a whole lot easier, 
but I don’t use my gifts at home if I can possibly avoid it.  The gift 
you do not call cannot be detected.  My mind control on me, suppressing 
the pain, was not avoidable, but it was inside my mentalic screens.

Toward the end I had a feline audience. The two barn cats realized I was 
back and were watching from a safe distance while I went about my work. 
After all, Bluebell and Columbine were quite certain that once I was 
done cleaning up the barn I would give them treats, scratch their 
stomachs, and comb their fur. I did go up the stairs to the perch where 
they had their nest.  There was a considerable pile of straw, clear 
hints that they had found this, that, and the other thing to line it 
inside, and at the far end of the perch a neat stack of tails where 
various rodents had contributed to feline diets.  The automatic cat 
feeder appeared to be working just fine. Its storage hopper was good for 
another several weeks, by which time I wouldn’t mind hauling a 30 pound 
sack of cat food from the house. I have fixed the feeder once, and can 
fix it again, but working with tools is going to be a chore until my 
shoulder heals.

The cats like regular warm lunches. Careful examination of the tails 
indicated that they were probably spending most of their time hunting in 
the fields and bringing dinner home. I sat with my legs over the edge of 
the perch, dropped the cat treat on each side, and waited not for very 
long. Soon I had a large cat leaned up on each side of me, both of them 
rubbing their heads against my arms as they waited for me to give them 
more treats or better yet a good combing. That went on for a solid 20 
minutes, at the end of which I was out of treats, the curry comb had 
been cleaned several times, and they were both purring loudly.
At the sound of horse’s hooves, I clambered back down the stairs. 
Usually I would just lean forward and rotate one-handed off the ledge. 
It was just seven feet, so I’d barely flex my knees when I landed. Not 
today, thank you; I was too beaten up.  A horse’s lips nuzzled my hair. 
I pivoted happily. “Oh, Daffodil, you’ve really missed me, haven’t you?” 
A second Appaloosa came into the barn. “You, too, Snapdragon.”

The horses really loved being hugged, especially at the same time, but 
my right arm was not going to cooperate. Not today.  I produced from the 
bag a pair of  MacIntosh apples, and dropped them toward the 
newly-cleaned barn floor.  The ponies greedily gobbled them up, and 
repeated when I gave them another pair of apples.  I did hold the maple 
sugar in my hands, carefully.  Daffodil and Snapdragon waited patiently 
for their combing.  They also got a careful check of their hooves. 
There were no stones, no signs of other issues. Vigorous scratches 
behind their ears were clearly appreciated.

“You want me to ride you, don’t you?” I asked. “I’m really sorry, but 
you’re both going to have to wait.”