This little colt was in grave danger of being named "Dude" or "Big Lebowski", neither of which names I thought very flattering. He is less than a week old and he is large, but his masculinity is what stands out in the context. You see, he is the first colt born at this particular barn in about 10 years - unless you count the accidental mule, which is another whole story.
At this barn where I board, two mares are bred every season and two fillies are born every spring, like clockwork - until Rupert. Therefore, Rupert is like the prodigal son, and has been showered with treats and attention like nobody's business. He is very calm with all this fuss, and seems to think it is just what he deserves - how like a guy! :) His mother is a little less serene about it:
She keeps a weather eye out for anything she might not like, and now & then just shoves in to separate Rupert from his admiring crowd of barn girls. She has not got the sweetest disposition even under normal circumstances, and she is a savage cribber. When she can't get Rupert away from the folks, she goes and comforts herself on a fencepost.
Here's one of the reasons I like the name "Rupert":
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night
The Dead
Rupert Brooke
My TB gelding loves babies, and here as he stares through the fence you can see his longing to go join Rupert and snuffle him up:
He whickers and whinnies softly whenever there's a baby in his sight line, and his eyes just melt. Isn't Nature funny sometimes?
