Martha Ball
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Falki was by the gate, as he often is, when I came home from a trip to the harbor. He is an Icelandic horse, sweet tempered but a bit of an escape artist. The youngest of his small “herd,” he was able to slip between posts, gliding beneath the single chain connecting them. A gate replaced the chain.
He slithered no small feat for a horse, even a small-of-stature Icelandic between lines of electric fencing, seemingly able to find any place there was slack. A fourth line line of fencing, all around both pastures, seems to be containing him, for the moment.