Last night, when I arrived at the barn to let the horses in and feed them dinner, the rooster, Captain Salty, was cowering outside glancing, from time to time, fearfully toward the barn door. Captain Salty is a particularly disagreeable bird and I knew it must be something terrible indeed keeping him from his normal evening roost at the top of Dancer’s stall. I took a breath and entered the barn to see what horrible sight awaited me.

I don’t pretend to be an authority but, after spending 6 months in Norway, I should recognize a troll when I see one. That being said, it has been 10 years since I was there and trolls are scarce in this region. In fact, they are scarce in ANY region outside of Scandinavia and their presence anywhere else is almost always accidental as they are notoriously xenophobic and also too slow witted to navigate an airport. When they are outside of Scandinavia they naturally seek out woodland, particularly rocky woodland with caves. They are also drawn to small farms which, according to Wikipedia, they are likely to take over. A farm owned by people with a Scandinavian surname would naturally be enticing to a troll. It took me several minutes but I was eventually able to identify the specimen before me as a Grumbling Round Faced Troll, an exceptionally aggressive type, so named for its round face and tendency to grumble. This one had attempted to disguise itself by taming its usual bushy eruption of hair into a long thin rat tail of a braid. It sat in the middle of the aisle in front of a large pile of stones and grumbled testily upon seeing me after which it resumed its occupation which seemed to be testing the stones for palatability. It raised each stone to its round face, inserted it into its mouth and then, with a grunt, spit it out and threw it out the door, where the rejected stones formed a new pile. I needed to let the horses in but feared provoking it, as the Grumbling Round Faced Troll is known to have a fearsome bite. Having no fangs, it instead has enormous molars, which along with a significant amount of adipose tissue, contribute to its very round face. I decided to let it finish its gatronomous experimentation and go check on Wiley, the 26 year old thoroughbred, who had been very lame since the morning. He was near the house, having been allowed to graze out of the usual paddock which was rocky and too perilous for a lame horse. He hobbled slowly and, it seemed, painfully to the barn but, just as I went to halt him, broke into a trot, eluding me and entered the building where the troll sat with its stones. The troll grumbled indignantly at Wiley and then at me and then incomprehensibly tried to crawl inside a tack box. When it found it couldn’t fit, it grabbed a curry comb and hurled it at its own foot, yelping in pain at the impact. It then grumbled some more and trundled to the door where it broke wind violently before leaving.

This morning, when I returned to the barn, the troll was thankfully absent. The only evidence of it having been there was a large pile of stones outside the doorway and some large droppings which were definitely not equine or canine.