On the advice of a friend, I've decided to try and delve into Bentley's account of a certain event versus my account of a certain event. Of course, Bentley's not telling his side overly clearly, so it's only my interpretation of his opinions and actions. I think it's best not to think too hard about the inevitable game of telephone this ends up to be.
He said/she said #1: Mount manure
Now, an important thing to not about Bentley is that he is, above all things, a delicate 1300 lbs of monster. He looks big and tough, but has the perpetual expression of a deer in headlights. Releveant to this story, he is also allergic to pretty much everything, including most types of hay, several different molds and oats. This has resulted is a challenging few years from a management perspective, and his diet is watched very carefully.
So, open scene. A picturesque summer day complete with puffy clouds and a soft wind. The fields had been taken over by clover, and the horses taken over with scratches, so the BO was dilligently spraying to get rid of the offensive, yet tasty, plant. Of course, to carry out said spraying, the horses had to be moved into a different pasture.The pasture also happened to be the place where the wheelbarrow was dumped, and had a small mountain (perhaps a foothill relative to most North American mountains) composed of stratas of shavings, poop and mouldy hay. I didn't carbon date any core samples, but it had been forming for quite some time. Cause for concern? Perhaps. But, this was one small mountain of crap in a GIANT field filled to the brim with tasty, tasty grass. And, it was temporary, right? What could possibly happen over two days?
Enter Bentley, stage right:
[Bentley looks right to open, grassy fields in which to frolic, then looks left over to pile of manure]
"Hmmm, grass. I like grass. Wait... Whatever this is smells amazing! I NEED to see what's up there. Ohh, kind of soft an uneven, but [reaching the top] NOW I AM KING! BOW DOWN, ALL OF YOU [to other horses grazing in the field]. Hold on, is there food in here? Does this mountain get any better?"
Enter Chelsey, leaving the tack room and seeing Bentley on top of mount manure, eating stalks of moldy hay:
[Muttering under breath calculating vet bills and hopping through the fence.]
"What are you doing?" Bentley turns around and gives Chelsey the walleye, then continues chewing. He refuses to reliquish his position at the top, leaving the increasingly angry girl to climb up to him, sinking shin deep in crap up to her shins. He appears to be thoroughly proud of himself.
End scene
Thankfully, there were no lingering effects from his exploits. Not suprisingly, he learned absolutely nothing from the experience, other than hills are awesome and food can be found in the unlikeliest of places. In fact, there is currently a leftover pile of waterlogged grain in the driveway that has been ground into the gravel by at least 50 cars over the course of three weeks that he attempts to stop and eat every time we walk by.
