An Unthirsty Horse

Fourteenth day in a row and it just might be the one. Up at six to start a four mile hike. Flat but dusted. Ground is dust bunnies of scattered smut and frivoled bits of outside laughs. Lots of well renown and highly recommended dust. Sun blazing hot calling him to thirst. He used to sweat more when he would drink right, but it's been a while. I brush him down real well. Make his coat shine much as I can. Never did stop him from rolling in the muck.

We set off at six for four miles and a lapping stream he don't lap at. He can't hold his saddle anymore, poor guy. Lost his ability to carry anything. Can't hold is water. Heh. He thought his dust would be just fine. Nope. Just makes him look like everything else. He pants and pants and flicks his tail. Still just as dirty. Nothing to wash that dust off with. He knows about water back and forward but he don't taste it. Couldn't and still have all that dust. 

We walk right up to the rocks with the water running through their fingers. Nice calm pool in the stoney palm. Offered up real nice for him. He bends down for sniff. Knows the smell real well. Knows it's good water. Knows I'm waiting. But he don't drink. 

I wash up. Water dissolves the dirt and cleans me well. Up to my waist, soaking just fine. Nice and cool in the creek. Full of life and a peaceful pull. I nod my head back to invite him in. He stares blank then looks away. I splash at him a bit and he dodges. I'd even be happy if he would get some mud going. Any kind of water would be good for him. He don't know how sick he is. I smile and call his name. Trying to lure him to health and happiness. Nothing. 

Noon hits and still nothing. I pull out my copper cup and fill it a bunch of times, drinking it in deep gulps and grins. I fill it up and hold it to his snout. He snuffs it off. He's bored of it. How does he know bored? He ain't tried it. Not like he likes the dust all that much. Not really. Not as much as he thinks.

I sit next to him on the shore and start drying out a bit. Still sipping from my cup offering it to him occasionally. I close my eyes and pray his thirst'll be too much to take before his body gives up on him. He's thinned out, weak kneed, boney skeleton showing through. Couple of times I think he'll sip when I offer but he don't. Acts like he might but never does. Round seven I call it a day and we start walking back. 

Sun sets again. Lowering behind us and showing how gray the dirt is. Gray as he's getting. Hope he'll sip soon. Hope he'll come back to living. Hope he'll drink a full belly everyday. Doubt it sometimes. Hope it all the time. But there's no good in giving up, letting him die. Be back tomorrow.