BALIN LUSBY

A Visitor and a Friend

Someone came to my field today. Usually I would be worried,

but The Man was with him, so I was not.

Someone came to my field by the stables,

and he was an odd character. He had a strange little box

that he stood on top of a little tree. To this he attached a large silver bowl

on a stick. Usually something so odd would scare me, but The Man was watching him carefully, with his hands on his hips. I was not worried,

because The Man was keeping watch.

The visitor made gestures to The Man,

who moved accordingly. I watched from beneath The Tree.

I call it The Tree because it is the only tree in the field, and

it has always been here.

Just like The Man has always been here.

He has taught me work.

On some occasions I have helped him

pull a cart full of vegetables to market.

Another time I helped move something heavy

from the barn to the stables.

He is a good boss.

The Man has also taught me play,

running in The Field, leaping over things.

Once we even left the field and went all about the ranch,

I ran, I leapt, I saw many things.

It was hard work, but it was fun.

Sometime, though not very often,

the work is indistinguishable from the play.

The visitor gestured once more to The Man,

who moved again. Finally satisfied, the fellow counted to three.

A bright flash and a small crash erupted from the bowl attached to his contraption.

The Man did not flinch,

but I was taken by surprise. I galloped over to check on him,

leaning over his shoulder.

He put a hand behind a my head and scratched between my ears,

taking a puff off his cigarillo. He seemed a little irritated,

as if I have interrupted his work.

But he was also smiling broadly,

as if enjoying the activity.

There came another tiny thunderclap and a flash.

“That’s the one,” the visitor said; the two men laughed heartily.

“Good work,” said The Man, “Let’s call it a day.

Sometimes, though not very often,

but sometimes,

the work is indistinguishable from the play.