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January 13, 2012

The other day I had an insanely spectacular ride; it was one of those rides that remind you why you put up with the naughty ponies, late farriers, lameness frustrations, and depleted bank accounts.

Pony was forward, relaxed, and actually thinking instead of merely reacting. She was happy, and because she was happy, I was happy. We ladeeda’d around the arena for a little bit, and then because it was FIFTY FIVE FREAK’N DEGREES outside, I decided to give her a break from the arena and go on a trail ride. We ambled along the irrigation ditch and she was a little rockstar. We had a few spooky moments when a herd of dairy cows decided to launch themselves en masse at us (I would spook too, this was seriously an overwhelming number of cows), but she always came right back to me and settled down as if nothing happened. When we got back to the barn, I couldn’t quite convince myself to dismount – it was too nice of a day- so we went on another trail ride to the feedlot. I do love the Western mentality that says, “Heck yeah it’s alright to ride a three year old for three hours if it’s fifty degrees outside!” 

Pony definitely has the makings of a cowhorse. She locked onto those little steers and tracked them as much as the fence would allow. There was an adorable few minutes, however, when the steers and Pony took alternate turns spooking at each other. Angel would trot up to the steers, who would bolt, which would cause her to spook in turn. She would trot back, a steer would sniff her, she’d spook and cause the whole herd to take off. They went on like this for a few minutes, sniffing-snorting-spooking, simultaneously fueled by both curiosity and baby uncertainty.

I love my pony.

Driving back from the barn, the world felt right. I was driving my truck through a cornfield, a saddle riding shotgun, dirt on my hands, mud on my boots, sun setting over the Rocky Mountains, and the radio blaring. Sometimes, when I can block out the thoughts of bills and a looming thesis, life is good.

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