I wonder how many books could be written with that title.
While I was off hauling 2 horses out to Ontario for our daughter that has just recently moved out there, my cowboy bought a horse . . . for me. We’ve been looking for some time. Pic is getting old. Big, broke horses, that are solid to rope on aren’t easy to find especially for what we have have to spend. Still I figured if we were carefull and patient my dream horse would be out there.
I was excited when I first talked to him on the phone about this new horse. Sweet broke to death, he says, I’m gonna love him. He sends me a picture of a cute bald face (I’ve always admired bald faced horses).
The next day I have some time to review what he had told me on the phone: the horse is 4 (1st red flag), he’ll grow (2nd red flag), 5 months reining training (3rd red flag), he tells me the price (it’s a lot), if I don’t like him-he’ll ride him (red flag, red flag . . . starting to see a lot of red).
I start worrying, give up some of my plans, and hurry home. I see a bald face horse in the corral when I drive in the yard and slip in to have a look at MY new horse. The top of head doesn’t come up to the whithers on the new grey horse standing beside him (oh no!). I notice when he walks off that he paddles in the front end (what!). OK, OK (I try to calm down). He’s broke, I’ll wait till I ride him.
That was today. I was so frustrated at riding a puny little 4 year old that I couldn’t get my work done on, I got off, chased the horse away and walked 3 miles back to the trailer through 2 big ditches (one full of sloughy water that filled up my boots and made my pants stink) crying.
I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.