Animal Talks at the Whale Fjord
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We all think we can talk to animals. I used to tell my friends that if I broke into a house with other thieves and we encountered a rabid dog, it would run right past me to bite somebody else's butt. I'm a dog, thinks any other dog about me. I've talked to seals and sea lions, angry elephants in Sri Lanka and the Serengeti, etc. And I can walk anywhere in Iceland, and easily get the horses to come and pose. But talking is one thing. Touching is another.
The farm girl sees me cooing to a pretty horse, a million-kroner animal on the shores of the Whalefjord, and then she melts through the barbed wire and approaches it with her hand at muzzle level, fingers slightly spread; she is casting her spell, and the horse sensing magic backs away a bit until curiosity gets the better of it and he pokes his nose an inch forward. Quick as a mongoose, the farm girl shoots her hand onto the loose folds of the horse's throat, between muzzle and chest, and her other hand is against the far cheek, calming, and her face is pressed against his. Not even a second goes into the lock of this embrace, which will last five minutes.
On the airplane in tears I watch a movie with Juliette Binoche and Johnny Depp, where she has just cooked for the townspeople at a public event, and Depp asks her to dance after watching her the whole night, and as they touch on the dance floor she is still concerned about the appetites of the revelers, and she says "Do you think everyone enjoyed --" and Depp says "Sssssshh," pronounced like a snake rather than a wave, and grips a tiny bit tighter and she sets into his neck, tired little Sun, cooking for everyone, finding a horizon where it can drip into night. I think of the farm girl clutching the horse by the throat, kissing its cheek, stroking its face and nose, kissing its nostrils, while a massive rainbow flirts just outside the frame, and when the horse after five minutes of nuzzling bolts free, I am there with a chocolate biscuit. The horse accepts this in a happy gulp, and then stands next to Halldora for more preen and cuddle, and then asks me, "Where's the next fucking biscuit?" to which I have to admit, "I gave you my last cookie," and the horse breaks free and away and heads for the rainbow.
You can read the whole story at my website.
Also by seanie blue
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