This is Montana. (The n should have that little curly Spanish thing over it to show you that it’s pronounced Montanya.) He’s our 1-year-old horse mixed with St. Bernard and Anatolian Shepard.
And, because we have no physical fences or electric underground fences to keep him in, he wanders the neighborhood. Unfortunately.
Every day, he brings home something new. Unfortunately.
Most times they are harmless items. But never do they originate from anything we’ve ever owned. I never bought this. I’m sorry for the dog whose owner did buy it.
No telling where this came from, there are lots of sticks around, but this stick wasn’t here yesterday.
We’ve had antlers, bones, skulls, even an elk hoof with the leg bone still attached.
But, this, was a first.
About two weeks ago, the coyotes were howling and celebrating and chattering down in the neighbor’s horse field. The next day, a bloody leg bone was laid right in the stairway trail down to the barn. I figured they had killed a deer and left a leg bone for Montana.
Two days ago, what was once attached to the leg showed up.
I don’t dare to guess what he’ll bring home next time.
- The Goat Cheese Lady
