Candy Carrots

The bag label said, “carrots for juicing.” Well, unless you’re a horse owner and then it reads, “seven dollars for twenty pounds of eternal equine affection.” Surprisingly, it was my mom who insisted we purchase it for Ransom. The man in the grocery store parking lot gave us an incredulous look as I hefted the bag from the cart to the trunk. “That’s a lot of carrots!” 
 

“They’re for her horse,” Momma explained, positively gleeful.

Momma has adopted my spotted charge as a surrogate grandchild, since my sisters and I have yet to provide her with any of the human variety. Carrots are the new candy. I have to carefully mete out portions to keep from spoiling Ransom.

I’m not one of those women who consider their horses as children, but it’s been fun to see Momma enjoy Ransom like that. She gushes about him to friends like any good grandma. “He’s the most sweet-tempered creature, so mellow and laid back!” She enthusiastically volunteered to horse-sit when I go out of town for a week, visiting the barn with me beforehand to learn to halter and lead, groom, and blanket. With a cache of carrots at her disposal, they’re sure to get along splendidly.

Bribery? Perhaps. But the best kind.