• VOLUME 49 • © HORSES For LIFE™ Magazine
While walking the dogs today, I notice something small and round lying on the dirt road in front of me. I pick it up. An onion.
It's harvest time and the big trucks are piled high with them, load after load of golden, peeling orbs. Now they are all over the road, scattered like apples, the air laden with their pungent scent. Some of them are split open revealing the smooth white surface inside, others have been flattened by tires. But most of them are firm and round.
I don't have anything to put them in, or I would squirrel some home. I decide to come back later with a bag.
So the day wanes, shadows lengthen and I decide it's onion gathering time. I select a plastic bag with handles, because I think Clifford should help me get the onions. It would be a good little jaunt for him. I take the bag to the barn with me and a couple of apples. Clifford sticks his head eagerly in his halter, and I lead him out and start to brush him.
A puff of air picks up the bag and moves it gently down the aisle toward his feet. He puts his nose down and touches it.
Seeing him do this prompts an experiment, and I talk to him much as I would have done with my trick dog, Scorch. After all, he has been clicker trained the same way.
"Pick that up," I tell him.
He lifts his head and looks at me.
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