The Hairy Hippos, Dise and Metta. My beautiful girls, I love them. Dainty, absolutely not. Graceful, hardly. Hairy, oh yes, they are hairy. Fjord horses are made for harsh winters, roaming the frozen wastelands of Norway. Are there frozen wastelands in Norway? I expect so. The girls are very hardy and I swear they gain weight just looking at hay. Easy keepers. We have a lot in common really. They love their food. The motto of the Norwegian Fjord Horse should be "We live to eat!" Vertically challenged, they make up for it in spirit. They want to be the boss, I want to be the boss. we debate this continually. I am learning not to be so bossy. At least one of us is learning. Dise is five and loves to walk, or stop. Stop is her favourite. Metta is twenty three and loves to go, and not stop. I am forty three and hope for something in between. Metta is the boss, nobody messes with her. Metta's word is final. She controls the herd with a turn of the head, an ear pinned back, a look. Very impressive. Much like Elsie Nelson and the raised finger, cross her if you dare, very few did. The girls look like they are a missing link to the horses of long ago. Dorsal stripes running through their manes, along their backs and continuing through their tails. Prehistoric ponies, with manicured hooves and a love of apples and carrots. The food, it is all about the food.
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