Bo-Bo Knows Gratitude for Unexpected Visitors

This morning I can't stop looking at the horse—yes, horse—in my neighbor's backyard. I stumbled from my bed a bit groggy but not so out of it that I failed to wonder what use my neighbors had for the horse trailer camped in their driveway. Their dobermans aren't that big. Then I glanced over at their slice of the American dream—a grassy area that would be too cramped for most trailers to sit on—and there was my answer. Horse. Horse. As in a country-mouse-lovin', in-the-flesh, honest-to-god horse. In Winthrop.

For those of you that don't know Winthrop, Massachusetts well enough to be sufficiently slack-jawed, our town shares a border with East Boston. We're not exactly a community known for its big lawns. The lot our condo sits on, for example, has no grass. Not one blade. And the most open space our town can claim is a handful of parks I'm totally grateful for and the beach. In other words, there are rich parts of town where the houses are off the hook, but no one 'round these parts is using the size of their lots to compensate for anything, if you know what I mean. In other words, this ain't horse country.

So I can't stop looking at my newest four-legged neighbor. Which is kinda sorta putting the neighbors off. Which maybe serves them right. Because unless the zoning laws in this town are arcane enough to hearken back to a time when sheep and chickens weren't oddities kept in petting zoos you have to pay to see, that horse's tail swishing in the cold November breeze is probably flipping off the guidelines for acceptable land use. So when I threw open my window to share my gleeful moment with my historically less-than-gleeful neighbors (there have been run-ins with them and the first floor over the barking, barking, barking of the aforementioned dobermans), the first thing they said was:

"It's just a visit!"

Me: "What's her name?"

Neighbor dude: "HIS name!"

Me, laughing: "Like I can tell that from way up here."

The guy gave me a look which confirmed my suspicions that they think the lady who regularly stands at her window watching their pack of dogs romp (that lurch would be me) is a little off her rocker. Then he turned to the horse who had itself turned in such a way as to put all its horsey manhood on enormously obvious display. The guy shook his head and turned away, but I wouldn't be deterred.

Me, louder: "So what did you say his name was?"

Neighbor dude: "Cigar!"

Because the annoyed glance neighbor-dude shot in my direction seemed to translate roughly to why-the-hell-are-you-still-there, I closed the window and receded a little bit. But I wouldn't go completely away. Not before I took pictures and ate breakfast while standing in the window! Because it's not every day I get to share my morning oats with a horse. And I'd still be watching if this majestic beauty hadn't turned his majestic hiney in my direction. My imagination projected to the majestic dookie I wouldn't want to watch get made while I was eating, and the spell was temporarily lifted.

But majestic dookies aside, I'll be enjoying the view from my kitchen window for a few days. And if that makes me a lurch perched behind a second story kitchen window, so be it.