Female horse reins in male farm mate who had a little too much swagger

We have three horses, known individually as Bert, Doodlebug and Dora, and collectively as the Oat Keepers. They are too old, small or ornery to ride, meaning their primary function is entertainment value, along with saving me from having to mow about five acres of pasture. What we save in gas we spend tenfold in hay.

Bert and Doodlebug are males, Bert being a large animal of unknown age and pedigree. He runs beautifully, but has an unstable relationship with gravity — just when you think he may be rideable, he takes an ungainly stumble and goes careening out of control, legs flailing like a cartoon horse and in general causing any potential riders to lose interest in the project. He may be doing this on purpose.

If Bert were an actor he would be Dick Van Dyke from the ancient sitcom, a handsome and slightly clumsy clown, trying hard, but ultimately ill-equipped, to keep the barnyard family in line. He is also about as old as Dick Van Dyke, and falls on occasion without being able to get back up.

If in the pasture he’s usually OK, but if he falls in the confinement of the barn it’s more problematic. Twice we’ve had to call the vet to come get him up right with a series of ropes, pulleys, wedges and levers that is effective and unspeakably picturesque.

But this story is about Doodlebug, and it is one of tragedy and woe. Also known as The Little Puke due to a swagger that is all out of proportion to his size, if he were an actor he would be Sylvester Stallone, only with more gold chains around his neck.

He and Bert acted as two bros, palling around and punching each other on the shoulder in a (usually) harmless and good-natured fashion. Mini horses are troublemakers, and Doodlebug took his bad-boy role seriously, getting into places he shouldn’t, breaching fences and going after others’ food, all with a “what are you going to do about it?” air, comfortable in the knowledge that we will almost, but not quite, be inspired to hit him in the face with a muck rake.

But today Doodlebug is a broken man, laid low by Dora, a full-figured girl who is a mini in name only (a recent addition from a neighboring farm that was downsizing). Bert and Doodlebug initially fought over Dora, but Bert —  in a rare moment of clarity — sensed that Dora was a problem, and willingly gave the Bug the keys to the car.

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Some women are aloof and hard to get, others are high-maintenance and demanding. Dora, who is not lacking in confidence, is both. She would stamp her feet and hiss at Doodlebug’s advances, but Doodlebug was sure that charm and perseverance would wear her down. We keep them in adjoining pastures, so every morning Doodlebug would race to her side where, across the fence, she would treat him like dirt.

Even for a horse, this gets old after a while, and DB stopped going out to see her in the morning. This infuriated the girl, who would assault him with a high-pitched whinny until he came out, at which point she would heap more abuse upon his shaggy little head.

So today, Doodlebug will trudge, head down, to her side to suffer her stomping and biting, submitting with the horse equivalent of “yes dear, anything you say dear,” until he glumly walks away with her shrieking for him to come back.

Where this ends I don’t know, and neither does Doodlebug. He is now a recluse in a farm over which he once was king. He peeks out the barn door to see if she might have forgotten about him, but she never has. And his heart still belongs to her, so there is no choice but to submit to his daily browbeating.

A small, ugly part of me is tickled pink that The Little Puke has been laid low. One thing for sure, it’s Dora’s farm now.

Tim Rowland is a Herald-Mail columnist.

This article originally appeared on The Herald-Mail: Tim Rowland: Bad boy equine laid low by female horse