George, the oldest and boss has just about killed a coyote and a wheelbarrow. He runs ducks out the field and has gone after a cats and dogs in the paddock. He also bite a tow truck driver that threatened my husband.... Long story. We don't stop him from doing any of these things, expect maybe the wheelbarrow, he's out guard horse and it's just fine with us. George is now 17, so the coyote happened a few years ago.
For your reading enjoyment here are stories my husband wrote about the coyote and the wheelbarrow- these are 100% true LOL:
George & The Coyote
We’ve come to regard our 13-year old quarterhorse, George as a “hero”. There are some clues in his background that hint as to why, but those are another story altogether. Suffice it to say that George “looks after” things in true alpha-horse fashion.
As I came home one afternoon to feed the horses, George thundered across the field with whinnies, snorts, and head-tossing; all signs of an “event”. He greeted me at the fence with a series of wuffles & snorts, turning his head towards the centre of the field all the while. I peered past him and noticed a barely distinguishable lump about 40 meters away. As I climbed the fence to investigate, George pranced off into the field with tail high & snorting all the way. Apparently this was no ordinary lump.
About the time I got close enough to realise the “lump” was not of that field, the “lump” moved! Maybe my eyes are finally giving out, or maybe I’m just thick, but I didn’t recognize that lump for what it was until it growled at me. I found myself staring at the most disheveled coyote I’ve ever seen. If a coyote could be born boneless, this is surely what one would have looked like.
The coyote tried in vain to raise himself, but there were simply too many broken bones to allow him to stand. But even as I watched, he managed a half-roll, half-flop, making surprisingly good time towards the edge of the field. In no time, that hapless bag of hurt disappeared over the edge of the ditch.
Looking over the battle zone afterwards I saw hoof prints everywhere, and the tufts of coyote fur deeply embedded into the ground underneath most of them pretty much told the rest of the story. I’m not sure how that critter got close enough to let George get the first kick, but it was undoubtedly the most painful, and last, mistake he ever made. A thorough inspection of George revealed nothing more than a few strands of tail hair out of place. We’ve had an increasing problem with coyotes locally, with them becoming so brazen that I’ve had to chase them out of the barn. Since that episode though, I’ve only caught glimpses, as they skip across every field but ours.
I would have liked to have had a taxidermist preserve that coyote, just like I found him. Picture him hanging from the gate, with a sign reading, “If you think you’re tougher than this, c’mon in!”
I was cleaning stalls one lovely morning, just after feeding the boys. Just because I'm a picky kinda guy, we designated one wheelbarrow for feed, and another for poop. I had parked the feed wheeelbarrow just outside the barn door, and proceeded in to clean. George & Kooter both, being curious & helpful individuals, cirucited in & out throughout the process, seeing if they could be of any assistance (more likely they wanted to check if I'd left any errant scraps of hay or grain laying about, but this is my story & I'm gonna tell it the way I want). Our barn is small, containing only 2 10x12 stalls fronted by a 4' aisleway that spans across both. This doesn't leave a lot of maneuvering room; explaining why the feed wheelbarrow was parked outside.
On one recon tour, George & Kooter managed to get themselves crammed into the same small space, & one of them had to back out. Being the Big Brother & Official Trailblazer, George took the initiative. As he backed out, he bumped his hocks on the feed wheelbarrow. Now normally this wouldn't have bothered him; he would have simply taken a step forward, re-aligned himself and continued on his way. This time however, he turned around, gave that wheelbarrow the oddest look, and suddendly embarked on a rather frightening rampage. Something inside George must have told him that wheelbarrow was inherently evil, possessed by a demon, or responsible for unspeakable sins wrought on scores of innocent souls. Whatever the reasoning behind it, the next few moments were rather striking; pardon the pun.
At first George just sort of grunted and turned his head to eye the first offending demon. Having taken sufficient aim, he then lambasted the wheelbarrow with both back feet; sending it whirling across the paddock & bouncing off the fence. I was just about to scold him for being somewhat over-reactive, when he decided that a simple double-barrelled kick was not sufficient to save mankind from a beast of this magnitude. He stomped over to the wheelbarrow, snorted loudly at it and to my complete surprise suddenly reared & brought both front feet down on it. No sooner had I yelled at him when he dealt another crushing blow to the now seriously misshapen thing; and another, and several more after that. In fact, by time George was done, there were pieces of that "unbreakable" wheelbarrow scattered across 3 paddocks, the driveway & the barn. Sweaty & puffing , but apparently quite proud, George stood for a moment to survey his handiwork, snorted one last time at it, then walked calmly away as though nothing had ever happened.
I've since taped the wheelebarrow back together (we now call it Frankenstein), and George holds no ill will towards it whatsoever. We never did figure what prompted that display; the closest we could imagine is that in some way George may have figured he was protecting his brother somehow. Hey, if you can come up with a better idea, I'm all ears.
Last edited by G and K's Mom; 02-10-2009 at 03:01 PM.