I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Even after a roll in the sand a few days ago, his coat was sleek. No manure
stains marred the white blanket pattern over his rump, and no dust clouded the
air when I patted him. Despite his nice hygiene habits, I’d been waiting for a
warm day to give him a bath – his first bath since I bought him over a year ago.
I’d hosed him off after sweaty rides, but never shampooed and scrubbed.
Finally a hot day arrived. Ransom danced around in the cross ties as the
cold stream of water splashed his legs, and he clamped his tail when I soaked
his back. The brown suds revealed that he wasn’t as clean as he looked. I used
a rag for his face, but he still tossed his nose in the air and scrunched his
nostrils in his best attempt to evade the wipe-down. I could feel the water
dripping down my arm as I struggled to reach him.
After scraping the excess water out of his coat, I stepped back to admire
my handiwork as he dried. His coat shimmered. A spritz of show sheen and he was
as soft as a baby. Now he truly deserved the title, “Mr. Clean.”
