Ransom reached eagerly to graze along the side of the road as I led him out of his pasture. I usually let him munch for a few minutes every day. His nose swept back and forth to brush away the weeds, while his lips worked madly to sift the choicest grass and tear it off in quick bites. He was like a greedy child stuffing his mouth. I think he knew his time was at my whim, and he wanted to eat as much as possible before I tugged on the halter and dragged him away. There was a kind of rhythm as he grazed: rip, munch munch, swish, stomp; rip, munch munch, rip munch. He made me think of a cartoon where the goat with exaggerated teeth plows through a field of tall grass to the sound effect of a mower’s engine, leaving a straight and even lawn. Ransom’s head came up only once when something caught his attention, and I grabbed my chance to pull him away and continue down to the barn.
No comments:
Post a Comment