HORSES

When I was about 12, my grandfather gave me my first horse, a pure black Arabian/quarter horse mare with a white star. She came with the name “Cleo,” but I always called her Dancer, because that’s what she did.

She had a way of moving that was like dancing on air. She could single-foot naturally, which is really unusual. (You can google “single-footing” and see pictures of what this means.) Her canter was smooth and I loved to jump ditches bareback. It was like flying.

Alas, I grew up and went away to college and then got married. Dancer could not come with me. She ended up happily with another girl who loved her too.

For many, many years I did not have a horse, but I still kept Dancer’s bridle. I even kept one of her shoes!

Now I have a big (16.5) and beautiful rescue horse. He’s a sorrel, a lovely red color, with one white foot. He had an abusive childhood, and when he came to me he was a frightened mess. Afraid of everything and everyone, and I never knew what he would do next. When he was put in a closed stall during a thunderstorm, he nearly had a heart attack. He was covered with sweat and shaking so hard he could barely stand, so I took him right out. Obviously he is claustrophobic among other things! When we tried to shoe him, he reared and tore the concrete block he was tied to right out of the ground. When I tried to get him in a trailer, he went into fits. (I walked him 5 miles to where we needed to go.)

Well, that was three years ago. Now Pamyat (means “to remember” in Russian) is a sweetheart, and we plan to grow old together. Actually, Pamyat is already old. He’s between 25 and 30 horse years, which is over 100 in human years!