Horse Stories: The Playful Fox

We've had a few horses in our time, but none was as dear to my father as a little filly he named Fox because she was quick and clever. She came from a farm near us and was a sweet little thing who adored my father. She was more like a large dog than a horse, and often wandered around the yard free of both corral and tether. But she wasn't above making a fool of my father when the occasion called for it.

This particular day dawned bright and sunny. It was the end of August in 1992, making Fox a grand six months old. She'd always been a playful filly, which is why my father had chosen her when he could have had any foal from the herd. And she was especially playful on this specific afternoon. My sisters and I watched as she tried to engage my father in a game. He was gardening and kept telling her to stop stepping on his corn.

Even a filly as sweet as Fox eventually loses patience. As we three girls sat in the sand pile watching, Fox started to rip the corn out of the garden.

"Fox!" my father snapped. "Don't touch the corn."

The filly looked at him out of the corner of her eye and tugged another stalk out of the dirt, tossing it playfully across the garden.

At this point, my father was more than just a little annoyed. He stood and grabbed a lead rope. It was apparent to us girls that he was going to put her back in the corral. Fox was having none of it. She pranced away, keeping just out of reach. My father followed her relentlessly. My older sister started laughing at Fox's antics. My younger sister and I soon joined her, laughing until we rolled in the sand.

Almost an hour passed as my father tried to catch the headstrong filly. Eventually, he stopped and burst out laughing. The hilarity of the situation couldn't be denied. Fox, hearing his laughter and knowing all was forgiven, cantered up to him, sliding to a stop less than two feet in front of him. My father tossed up his hands in defeat.

As he did so, Fox reared, pawing at the air mere inches from my dad. Her hooves hit the ground and my father frowned. He raised his arms again and again she reared, whinnying as she did so. A few more repetitions and my father was laughing again.

"Vicky, go get the video camera," he called, throwing his arms up once more.

As the eldest, Vicky knew how to use the camera. She went running off and returned minutes later, video camera slung around her neck and our mother in tow. Fox was still rearing every time my father's arms went above his shoulders.

"Catch it on camera, and quickly," my mother laughed.

Vicky obeyed, readying the camera and holding it up. Once she had both Fox and my father in focus, she waved her arm in the air, letting Dad know that she was ready.

My father smiled and raised his arms. Fox just looked at him. Turning to the camera, my dad shrugged. He tried again. This time, Fox nipped at his sweater. He tossed his arms up a third time and Fox nickered in his face.

Our laughter rolled across the field and Vicky almost dropped the camera in her mirth. My father tried to entice Fox into rearing for another few minutes, then gave up. Vicky shut off the camera and handed it to Mom. As soon as she did so, Fox reared. Dad threw up his hands, she reared again.

We turned the camera back on, but Fox just wouldn't rear, not for the camera. As long as the thing was off, she reared each and every time. My father felt a little foolish, but we all had a great time that sunny afternoon.

To this day, we have the video of my father jumping up and down in front of Fox, trying to get her to rear. We play it for the entire family at gatherings, and when we want to remember our darling Fox, who died several years ago, we always get a chance to laugh.