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[Editorial] [Words from the Staff] [Featured
Discipline]
[Featured
Equine]
[Book
Review]
[Glossary]
["Ask
The Trainer"]
["The
Help Desk"]
[Poetry]
[Contests]
[Writing
for the E-Zine]
[Submission Tips & Guidelines] © Photograph used with written permission of Saddleseat Riders Online
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 The barn door ground open, spilling sunlight into the dim interior. My boot heels clacked over the dusty cement. I sauntered over to my horse’s stall, my footsteps muffled by the dirt floor of the arena, and called her name. Her refined head popped from the pile of hay she was nibbling, and she walked over to the door. She snuffled excitedly and, from the depths of my pocket, I produced a small, white lump of sugar. She devoured it quickly and began searching for more. “Sorry,” I said with a laugh. “You can have more later.” I snapped the lead rope to her halter and gave a gentle tug. She followed me out of the deeply bedded stall with a great stretch and a yawn. I led her to the cross ties and secured her thereI removed my grooming tools from the cabinet and selected the rubber curry. She leaned heavily into the small, firm circles that I pressed against her thick chestnut coat. I put down the curry comb and chose a sheepskin mitt. I rubbed every inch of her satiny coat until it gleamed proudly in the dull barn light. I quickly proceed to the tack room to retrieve her tack and placed the fleece pad on her back only after she had thoroughly nuzzled the thick, fleecy object. I retrieved my saddle and placed it on her back, tightening the girth securely, and then put her bridle on. I double-checked the girth's tightness and then swung into the saddle. She pranced along the path that led to the soybean field. It was our favorite place to ride. There was plenty of freedom and room for her to stretch her legs, and almost every time that we went out there, there was something new to see. Sometimes, if we were lucky, we would see a herd of deer or some other intriguing animal. I fed her a little more rein and she moved out into a smooth extended trot. As we went around the field a second time, I clicked to her and she bounded along in a rollicking canter. After several minutes, I pulled her back to a sidestepping walk. I was as eager to go as she was but her coat was soaked with white, lathery sweat. As we neared the barn, I pulled her to a halt and dismounted. I moved towards her and she began to scratch her head against my shoulder. I knew it was bad manners but I did not care; she was mine and I was hers. Forever.
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