I remember when Annie was a foal. A little spindly chestnut, all leggy with her fur sticking up all over. Annie did not have a mother; the mare died giving birth to her. It was a terrible event that everyone grieved after. I have forgotten the mare's name. I did not know her well. Annie was full of life, though. She was cute and sweet, and very clever. I carried her bucket of Mare's Match out to her in the mornings. It took all my strength to carry that bucket, but I did not complain. I loved to watch her slurp it down. I loved the smell of her fur and the milk. I watched her eyelashes flick as she blinked, and I rubbed her all over. She seemed like she was the same size as me, but I'm sure she weighed a lot more. I felt like Annie was my foal. I loved her with all my heart.
I remember when she was four years old and learning what a saddle is for. She was just as sweet and smart then. She was always gentle with me, and I think she remembered when we were the same size. Then Annie became H.'s horse. H. rode her, trained her, loved her. They learned a lot together, more than I will ever know. Annie would do anything H. asked. I was so glad my foal had grown up to be H.'s horse.
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