Old Enough To Get His Driver's License

                                 


Comet has a job to do. He does it well. He enforces discipline among the two bands with whom he is  pastured.  His lieutenant is Holland, my powerful Shackleford  He was my most difficult horse to train. He was fiercely aggressive and would go out of his way to hurt a person.

Now he is ridden by novices. He is a fascinating diagnostic tool . He has riders that love nothing better than to ride him and others that simply will not ride him. His reaction to different riders does not seem to have anything to do with their skill or experience as riders. Those who are comfortable and confident get a great response. It seems that those who are less sure of themselves find him to be ungovernable. 

I do not talk to him as much as I talk to my other horses. I do not need to. We understand each other. We both know that the other has a job to do and we do not resent the other for doing their job. 

I have at least five horses that are stronger, faster, and more comfortable to ride, yet if it were a matter of life ad death for me to ride a hundred miles I would saddle him up. He would not let me ride him in a place that we should not be going. He would get me to the destination all in one piece. 

Comet is not a wild horse. He is 3/4 Appaloosa and 1/4 Arabian. He is also not a colt.

My riders are constantly asking me how old various horses are. I cannot remember. There are a lot of horses and their ages change every single year. A few weeks ago I realized that I have been incorrectly giving out my own age lately. I am 53, not 54.I am not good at keeping numbers in my head.

But the other reason I have trouble remembering horse ages is that they do not matter as much as people wish to think. Horses only come in three ages, too young to ride, perfect for riding, and too old to ride. 

I just looked Comet's age up. He is older than I was thinking. He is 16.

A perfect age for riding. 

My Head Hurts And My Feet Feel Worse

but I woke up feeling good this morning. Not long ago a healthy 18 year old boy volunteered to feed up for me for two days. Afterwards he sent me a very sincere note explaining that there was no way one man could be doing all this work for the long term and that I needed to enlist some regular help to handle the farm chores. I have been doing this work for a long time.

 I am not 18. I am fifty three. I am sore.

I can't find my glasses.

In short, this would have been a good day to hit a snooze button, (except that I have never used an alarm clock).

But for all the bad I feel this morning, I feel good.

Real good.

This is Ashley and her colt, Peter Maxwell. He is the son of Quien Es? and Edward Teach--so he is 1/2 Corolla, 1/4 blm mustang and 1/4 Chincoteague--a combination that will make him 100% tough. Ashley completed the Equine Youth Challenge program yesterday. Ibuprofen does not do much for me but a picture like this dulls the pain in one's feet quite well.

Yesterday was a day of horse training, riding, mounted archery, oyster roast, birthday cake for Daddy, and a mounted Easter Egg Hunt that Terry put together. It was an exhausting and satisfying day.

My capacity for happiness has been severely eroded over the years but my capacity for satisfaction has not been hampered one bit.

This morning I am very satisfied. Which is a good thing, because shortly I have to go move about 1,500 pounds of hay.

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