The Day the Terrier Met the Ten-Kick Tutor: How 10 “Deadly” Horse Kicks Made One Dog Very Dizzy
On Sunny Meadow Farm, life usually followed a predictable, peaceful rhythm. The sun would rise, the rooster would crow, and Bartholomew, a majestic Clydesdale horse with feet the size of dinner plates, would placidly chew his breakfast hay. But this peaceful rhythm had a small, furry, and relentlessly energetic disruption: Buster, a Jack Russell Terrier who believed the entire farm was his personal playground and all its inhabitants his playthings.
Busterâs favorite game, much to Bartholomewâs eternal weariness, was âAnkle Nipper.â He saw the giant horse not as a one-ton behemoth of placid power, but as a furry mountain that needed to be herded, chased, and generally annoyed.
On this particular sun-drenched Tuesday, Busterâs energy was buzzing at a higher frequency than usual. He decided today was the day he would finally get a real reaction from the gentle giant. He darted in, a white and brown blur of bravado, and gave Bartholomewâs fuzzy hoof a playful nip.
This is where the lesson began.
Kick #1 & #2: The Warning Shots Bartholomew didnât even lift his head from the trough. He simply flicked his back leg out, a casual, almost lazy motion. It wasnât a kick of aggression but a firm suggestion, like a parent pushing a childâs hand away from a hot stove. The first kick was a puff of air past Busterâs nose. The second, a soft thump against the ground right where heâd been a second ago. Buster, however, interpreted this not as a warning, but as the game finally starting.
Kick #3 & #4: The Annoyed Nudges Emboldened, Buster circled around and came in from the other side. This time, Bartholomewâs response was swifter. Two quick, short leg extensions connected with Busterâs fluffy rump. They carried no real force, more like insistent shoves. Thump. Thump. Buster tumbled head over paws into a patch of clover, scrambled up, and shook his head, looking even more thrilled. He was getting the attention he craved!
Kick #5 & #6: The Lesson Intensifies Bartholomew finally lifted his great head and let out a deep, rumbling sigh. The fun and games were over. As Buster charged in again, the Clydesdale unleashed two perfectly timed bucks. These werenât the gentle nudges from before. These were kicks delivered with the weary finality of a teacher disciplining a rogue student. One caught Buster squarely in his well-padded ribs, sending him skittering sideways. The next one missed, but the whoosh of it ruffled his fur and his confidence.
Kick #7 & #8: The “Deadly” Barrage Buster, dazed but not defeated, tried to regroup. This was his fatal error. Bartholomew, having committed to the lesson, delivered the main curriculum. With the speed of a piston, he fired off a rapid-fire buck-buck directly behind him. These were the “deadly” kicksâdeadly serious in their intent to end the harassment. Both connected with a solid thud-thud, sending the little terrier rolling like a bowling ball.
Kick #9: The Punctuation Mark As Buster tried to find his footing, his legs wobbling beneath him, a final, deliberate kick came out. It wasnât hard, but it was precise, landing on his flank and spinning him a full 180 degrees. It was the equine equivalent of an exclamation point.
Kick #10: The Dizzying Coup de Grâce The world was now a swirling vortex of green grass and blue sky for Buster. He stood, swaying, his tongue lolling out at a confused angle. Bartholomew, seeing his point had been made, took one final, gentle step back and used his hoof to give Busterâs hindquarters a soft push. It was just enough to send the dizzy dog into a slow, wobbly pirouette before he plopped down ungracefully on the grass.
The deed was done. Ten kicks, escalating from gentle hints to a firm finale, had successfully been delivered.
Bartholomew lowered his head, snorted once as if to say, âAnd stay down,â and calmly returned to his hay, the picture of tranquility once more.
Buster sat there for a full minute, blinking. He tried to stand, wobbled like a Weeble, and sat back down. The “deadly” kicks hadn’t hurt him, but they had scrambled his equilibrium and his ego. He had learned a valuable, if dizzying, lesson: some mountains are best admired from a safe, non-nipping distance. From that day on, Buster still played his games, but the game of “Ankle Nipper” was officially retired.
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