I saw my horse yesterday.
It’s still weird to have the word “my” in a sentence, when referencing a horse. GP was “mine” in every way but legally…so it still felt like a bit of a lie. It is a surreal feeling. After nearly 22 years of wanting one of my own, it’s really and truly happening. Some day it may sink in. Today is not that day.
Anyway, I saw my horse yesterday.
Saturday started with a busy morning full of running around to the barn that Image is to be boarded at to drop off my first board check, and then to the office to pick up a helmet one of K’s students had purchased, and then actually to K’s to drop it off and kiss soft pony noses. From K’s, I traveled all of 2 minutes to my aunt’s house to bring her to meet Image.
We were set to arrive at B’s at about one, so it gave us some time to chat and for me to harass her menagerie with my camera. D, for as long as I can remember, has always had a critter or two…and sometimes more. Her beautiful house and barn in northern Massachusetts causes of a wave of nostalgia to wash over me every time I set foot onto the property. Of all my family members, D is the only other one who was bitten by the horse bug. When I was a child, I would beg (and I mean beg) my mother to call “Auntie D” to see if we could go see her horse (and later on, she would add many dogs, some cats, a few birds, a couple goats, and a few pot bellied pigs…all well loved and well cared for). I love all of my relatives, but I feel a special connection with D, as we share the one thing I hold most dear to my heart. I have had a lot of influences when it comes to my horsemanship skills, but my foundation has D written all over it.
I was excited to have a pair of fresh eyes with me yesterday. I know what I see, but having more than one opinion to mull over is always beneficial. The car ride up was full of discussion, mostly about horses, with various life musings peppered in between.
We arrived at B’s a bit (okay, a lot) late, but she was as laid back as ever and waved off my apology. Introductions were made as we headed down to the barn. I could see two black fuzzy ears tipped towards us. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt ridiculous. This is a horse, I reminded myself firmly. Chill out.
When we entered the paddock, we were immediately accosted by Murray, the big Appaloosa gelding with the curiosity of a toddler who’s just learned to walk. Everything is something to be explored, mostly with his nose and mouth. He is adorable. I, apparently, think obnoxious behavior is adorable. That may explain a lot about me.
Image stood off to the side, giving the group of us the side eye. I approached slowly, and he wheeled away, completely unsure of my intentions. I didn’t blame him, to be honest — if three humans showed up in my paddock and stared at me, I’d be a little concerned too. I retreated a bit, fussed with Murray for a minute, and approached his shoulder. He stood quietly, and when I began scratching that spot right behind his withers, his eyes began to soften. There’s my boy. I snuggled into his neck, planted many a kiss on his nose, and fussed with his mane. I may be twenty two, but the horse crazy teenager still lives on in my heart and soul.
We stood in that paddock for maybe an hour, and he slowly warmed up to all of us, coming to stand in the middle of our semi circle. He became the quiet but funny horse I am slowly coming to know, begging each of us in turn for cookies. I fell in love with him all over again.
We had all begun to freeze our butts off at that point, so we headed in and spent some time talking and laughing with one another. Dusk fell, and we headed back into Massachusetts so I could drop D off.
Her assessments deserve a blog post of their own, when I have more brain cells available to devote to explaining my thoughts coherently, but they hold a positive connotation. Tomorrow, I will dive into that. Tonight, however, I will curl up in bed (with my electric mattress pad cranked up!) and remind myself that I am another day closer to putting his new bright blue halter on him and taking him home.