I was talking to Issachar. I scratched the short black wool along his muzzle, his big round eye looking into mine. Then he brought his nose to mine and breathed in, smelling my breathe, knowing me in a way I will never know him.
Issachar’s twin brother Asher was sitting a few feet away chewing this cud, a long piece of grass hanging from the side of his mouth.
When Issachar moved away from me, I saw Asher’s handsome face lit by the morning sun. That’s when I took his portrait.
Very handsome!
🙂
I’m catching up on posts, so when you talk about Issachar breathing in your breath, it made me think of your recent post about nose touching being the universal hello on the farm.
Yes, Trish, I kind of came to that realization by writing about it. One of the wonder things about writing, it makes me think.:)