Another pretty pair. The mare's a nice Appaloosa. Some people say they're not the sharpest knives in the drawer, but she seems both wise and kind.
What's lovelier than a young girl and a horse, talking?
If it weren't for the vet and food and shoeing and housing and fencing costs; if it weren't for the possibility of busted kid limbs and heads, heck, I'd have a couple of horses around. I love 'em. More than that, I love to love other people's horses. Having once been part-owner of a boat, I'd put hosses and boats in the same category. Sure, I'd love a ride on yours, thank you! And then when the engine (pastern, hoof, fence, barn) breaks down, you can be the one to fix it...
I could never understand why my dad wouldn't get me that horse I was dying to have. And now I do, oh how I do. It's one of those things that you can't grasp until you're in your parents' shoes, like wondering why your mom hated to see 14-year-old you take off alone on a 20-mile ride through the Virginia countryside on your ten-speed. What's the problem? you wondered. Why is she being so stern and worried? I'm FINE. Speedy! Alert! Immortal!
Farther on down the road, Jake found a stop sign, stolen from somewhere, lying in the ditch. All his switchboard lights lit up. He wanted it for his room.
Here they came down the road, carrying the dreadfully heavy sign. Click click click, aggh what a shot!
In the end we decided it was too heavy to carry the next mile. Whew. Not to mention that it's punishable by law to have a stop sign, even a found one, in your bedroom...
Back to the stream and the woods.
The Dean's Fork redtail circled, throwing spears down at us
and Cooper smiled in the sun.