As I've often mentioned, Stormy is a dominant mare. When I bought her ten years ago she could not have been sweeter or more manageable, but the old adage of "green horse and green rider" being a bad combination proved itself, as it always does.
Stormy established herself as the alpha mare by herding Callie all over their pasture. I, on the other hand, was a little more difficult for her because I didn't respond to her pinned ears; nudges; grunts; cold eyes or the love taps she delivered when the mood struck her.
In the world of the horse you are either a leader or a follower. If you don't assume the role of herd leader then another horse will. It is as simple as that and so it was with Stormy and me.
I had carried a 50# bag of feed nearly a quarter of a mile and after unlocking the pasture gate began trudging to our little red stable. Always curious and hungry, Stormy trotted up with a purpose and began tearing at the bag. I turned in a circle to my left to keep her away from the bag and as I did she let me have it, kicking me in the right knee. When you've been kicked by a horse the world stops for a moment while you make sure that nothing has been broken or lacerated, or both. Angry and hurt, I started chasing her and all the while screaming like a fool. Having enough of my shenanigans, Stormy kicked me again. Who's in charge here, I wondered? Clearly it's not me.