Adoption Claim - 9278

Wood splintered beneath the feral loshenka’s hooves, splinters spraying out from the cracked board like darts with the force of the angry kick. Boots stumbled over uneven earth to get away from the brutal onslaught, but got tangled in the tall grass surrounding the paddock and Dawson went down hard. 

“He’s gonna give you a run for your money,” Ken said with a soft laugh, reaching down to help the frustrated man to his feet. “At least he’s a looker.” 

The stallion’s red roan coat was interrupted with striking patches of merle and overo, giving him a unique look that was sure to catch the attention of any who laid eyes on him. The beauty did not carry over to his personality, however. The stallion had needed to be blindfolded, muzzled, and loosely hobbled to transport him back to the ranch after Dawson had purchased him. Since he’d arrived, no one had been able to touch him. The horse had been in a constant state of frantic rage. Day and night, the red beast paced the bounds of his confinement, kicking at fence boards, lunging at anyone who came too close, and nearly removing the hands that tried to bring food and water to the troughs at the side of the enclosure. 

“If he was any less valuable, I’d have put him in the dirt by now,” Dawson groaned, letting Ken help him up. “He better make some damn pretty babies for all this trouble he’s causing.” It was rare for Dawson to speak so harshly of a horse, but the three inch splinter stuck in the arm of his canvas jacket showed the truth in his assessment - the horse was trouble. 

“It’s his sixth home in as many weeks, Daws, maybe you should just leave him be for a while. Give him a chance to settle in. Lord knows what he’s been through to go out to homes and get sent back to that damn auction yard so many times so quickly.” He patted the disgruntled man on the shoulder. “Go clean up, Rick’s making dinner. I’ll get Mr. Warpath squared away for the night.” 

With a reluctant nod, Dawson gave it up for the night and turned for the house and left the two of them alone. 

“Well now,” Ken said, voice warming as Dawson moved out of ear range. “You’ve got to be hungry after all that carryin’ on. Why don’t I throw this hay over the rail into the middle of that nice pen you’re in, and you can eat it while I add some water into that trough for you?” 

The red merle stallion pinned his ears, stretching his neck and gnashing his teeth at Ken as he spoke. Every muscle in the horse’s body was tensed. His limbs trembled with a mixture of rage and anxiety. Anyone looking at the stallion could tell he was damn near ready to explode - and he had several times over already. 

Ken was determined to make sure the horse was cared for, though. Keeping one eye on the stallion as he began to paw at the earth, the former medic cut the strings off the bale of hay, pulled them loose, and gathered it in his arms. Talking softly as he did everything, the man made his way to part of the fence that was the farthest from where the stallion stood and threw the hay as far into the middle of the pen as he could. Stray pieces of hay were still trickling down through the air when the red beast charged the man with a fierce, ear-splitting scream.

“God damn,” Ken yelped, scrambling back and nearly tripping the same way Dawson had. Chest heaving, eyes wide, Ken moved back several yards from the fence to avoid the snapping teeth clacking in his direction before he dropped down on the grass to catch his breath. “You are some fucking horse, you know that?” The man wiped nervous sweat from his brow, resting his arms over his bent knees to watch the stallion. After a few minutes of Ken sitting, the horse eventually relented and trotted over to one of the scattered flakes of hay to sample it. The entire time he kept one eye on the man who had given it to him. 

Not wanting to press his luck, Ken waited for the horse to begin eating before he moved over to the fence, grabbed the pail of water, and practically threw it into the trough before hightailing it away from the fence again. This horse was not going to be an easy one.

The next morning, Ken helped with morning chores before dragging a rocking chair over to the shade of one of the trees closest to the stallion’s pen. 

“You and me are gonna be friends whether you like it or not,” He told the horse as he settled into the chair with a newspaper in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. “Just you wait, before you know it, you’ll be so sick of seeing me in this chair you’ll try to run the opposite way when you see me coming.” A light chuckle fell from Ken’s lips as he spoke, the merle stallion’s ears pinned back but occasionally flicking up to catch the sound of Ken’s voice. 

For the next hour, the man ignored the beast completely. He savored the quietness of the late morning, finishing his coffee in peace and taking his time with the paper. The soldier turned rancher even gave the crossword on the last page a stab, though he didn’t get too far with it. It was only when he heard boots crunching up the path behind him that the middle-aged man looked up and saw that the stallion had finally stopped prancing along the fenceline to eat that morning’s hay. Maybe there was hope for him yet.