Here are a few more stories from the time I was working in the staff. The first is how I did the lighting with the horse. Once I got tired of the half-dark inside, and I decided to hang another lamp: if you remember, in production such often hanged, on two daylight lamps, 80 watts each. The ceilings are not high, 2-2.20 meters, no slopes, no stairs, only a huge pot, "swarming", as we called it, with a volume of 50-60 liters, it evaporated oats. He turned around, stood on her and began broadcasting the lamp, behind the “stands” with horses, closest to Milka.

A few words about her. Milka, from the Jewish - laughing - this is the whole essence of her character: if you ride on it, then you will not admire the landscape quietly, she, in order to avoid it, just need to either bite the horse going in front, or lie down the horse behind, not so hard. And if the horse is turned on, it will become “on the candle.” At the same time, everything was done relatively innocently - she did not aim to drop the rider, or to crush the horse going from behind - she needed a "drive" whatever - it is boring to just drive. I loved riding it because I had to ride it, not sleep on a horse.

So, I started broadcasting the lamp, I stood, bending on the boiler, and I feel it approaches from behind and holds on to my "fifth point" with her ass – they were about the same level, only my one slightly higher. The first thought was, bored, she decided to sink. About what could hit, not even talk, just pushed. I pushed her, she didn’t leave. Carefully clutched on her, ready at any moment to "hop" - but no, it holds me.

Every time I climbed up, she approached me so that I could rely on her. She slipped down, left for something – she went to the side. I didn’t believe until the last time that she was helping me, supporting me while I was mounting. I thought coincidence. After finishing the installation, I tried, just so, from the boiling to rely on her, she immediately left, did not hold me. That is to say, she saw that I was very uncomfortable, decided to help, and I will say, clinging to her, it was much easier to hang the lamp.

The second story from the horse life, I told it our boss - Yuri Borisovich. Or just Borisovich. He started with an ordinary cabin at the Kyiv Hippodrom. Once brought there a young scooter from the tabun, to try it, and decide what to do with him next - either to the sport, if he shows good results, or back to the tabun.
To be in captivity is a very great stress for the dragon: here he was in the field, and here he stands in the diary. They are undergoing acclimatization for a while. Horses, by their nature, are very sensitive and vulnerable creatures. I don't know how he touched Borisovich, maybe confused by his appearance or character, he began to feed him with carrots, the good cost it then, what, 3 copies per kilogram. He is attached to him by a dragon, follows him with a tail, hides and catches between the buildings of the barracks play. They made friends, in one word.

Now the story itself - Borisovich went somehow riding on him through the Goloseevsky Park to ride, and already returned, but in trouble, in one place, the path was crossed by a broken bush. The raven refused to pass through the bushes. He is frightened, fears, and at the last moment turns aside. Borisovich tears from the horse, walked along the path, showed that everything is fine, which is not scary at all, and you can walk peacefully - it works on horses. And he will persevere and all go back, far away. 15 minutes, it didn’t help. Behind the bullshit of the booty Borisovich had a thin punch, he took it more by habit, so he did not. Psycho, he tossed him on the body. The drawer! The one immediately on the candle, and in the flight, opening his mouth wanted to bite. But as he descended on the front, something in his horse’s brains clicked – that’s a man who loves me and cares about me, what am I doing? I probably thought of the horse. At first aimed, either for the ear or for the key to grab. Standing on the front pits, he still bit him, for the third button of the shirt, slightly rubbed it and let go, went away, and with fear and confusion, began to look at Borisovich - what did I do? This confusion lasted a couple of minutes, and then he approached, stuck his mouth in his shoulder and rattled: tears in two streams, just didn't slip. He crossed these bushes, not even noticing, and he did not even try to burst down all the way back.
These are the animals, these horses.