Wednesday, August 06, 2008


I rode my horse again today, that wonderful Thoroughbred who I'm pretty sure I will name my firstborn child after.

As soon as I was on him, he charged away from me. He did this three times, in fact, and I did not feel an ounce of terror in my heart: Instead, I felt joy and wonder, because all that horse really wants to do?

Is go.

He wants to run and canter and leap over fences. He wants to have the correct number of strides between his obstacles, and if he doesn't get it, he makes up for it. He wants to run until his neck is lathered to froth in sweat and then? Once he is lathered?

He still wants to keep going.

Today I had to forcibly stop him from trotting or cantering. I had to force him to walk in a forward motion until the froth had dissipated from his neck.

And I must say that I am jealous. I wish I had that much urge to please the people around me, I wish I had what it took to keep running despite the fact that I was already huffing and puffing. This horse wants to move. He wants to go. He wants to run and he wants me to stay with him.

And for that, I love him, and the glee in my heart simply can not be spelled out in words for the Internet to understand.

And as a result, you'll just have to take my word on it.

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