Horse Racing

I spent my childhood in a village at the grandparents. Once my grandfather drove me, a four-year, on horseback. I enjoyed it so much that I wanted to own all means to ride. On anyone. Soon all living creatures in the grandfather's farm shied away from me in fear. Watchdog I turned the sled. Sheep and lamb, timidly stumbling into a pile, pass me by because I tried several times to take a ride on the Sheep - did not succeed. On polutoragodovalogo bull Mikhailovich I just kept looking from afar, burning with the desire to ride it, but he seems to understand my intentions when approaching lowered my head, and showed me their horns, not great, but for me impressive.

One day I wandered around the yard, dragged out of his pocket and built toffee evil plans, like to ride some skotinku ... Suddenly I was someone shoved from behind. I turned around - Borka pig snout in his palm pokes me. This, I taught him to toffee, quite small when brought into the house. I agree with him, instead of dolls played: bathe him, swaddled him of feeding nipples, toffee treat, singing lullabies, tucked in bed to sleep - until the grandmother grown-Borka in sarayku not translated. During this time, Boris has grown, but remembered my toffee. I stared up at the size of Borka. Dimensions him I completely staged. Borka growth was slightly above the collar on my dress. And then I realized, to whom I ride. It's time to return the favor Borka has come for my care of him.

I took out a toffee, unfolded it and showed piglet. Anyone suspecting a trick, came up to me, took her hands and began her toffee chew. Toffee melted in his mouth and stuck to the teeth. In general, Boris, trying to get rid of stuck toffee, forgotten for a while about me. And to me that a moment was enough to take off with a squeal on his back. Once on Borkinoy back, I'm in a fraction of a second I realized that it is necessary for something to hold on, because Boris, my frightened yelp, and even more so chtoya jumped on his back, screamed like a jet and took off running. I barely had time to grab his ears.

At this time my grandfather drove home to goats and sheep at midday watering. He had just opened the gate, I riding a wild Borka squealed with wild squeal swept past his grandfather. Grandma jumped out of the house, frightened by the noise, my grandfather, almost knocked me in perplexity standing at the gate and watched as I retire riding on a spirited pig somewhere over the hill. It was evident as the flutter of a headwind my bows in pigtails so the hem of her dress. Soon half of the street slipped from their homes, learn what the fuss was about this. And we see: the dust swirls, and a cloud of dust with the wild shrieking rushing through the village girl to squeal like a pig siren.

I do not know exactly how long it lasted, this jump, but the adrenaline and excitement I got off. Pig tired and he ran to the house. There his grandfather and caught. Of course, I was punished for a prank. But the experience of the race was worth it.


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