Friday, June 10, 2011

In which I introduce the equine love of my life

My heart horse.  Silly really, as I find him difficult to ride, but there is something about his goofy face that touches my soul.  I live to feed him peppermints and miss him when he is not in my barn.  He calls to me twice a day - it's cupboard love, I know that. 

He is Cold Harbor, aka "Bo".  Somewhere around the place I have a photo of him as a gawky four year old, named Hobo.  Hairy, gangly and just down from the Great White North, Bo is a Canadian Sport Horse, which seems to be horsespeak for "mutt".  He will turn 11 sometime in July, and I've been his owner for 6 years.  He was originally partnered with my son and they enjoyed a rare relationship together.  Bo ended up in a crazy, charming, confident Australian's eventing barn. What started as a temporary arrangement to get through the spring season has developed into a partnership of the first water - erste Sahne - as my german husband would say and now we eagerly await what the future will bring.  He has close relatives who reached greatness, only time will tell if he can follow their lead. 

Funding an upper level event horse is pricey, and I count my pennies at every turn.  Funny how the little decisions we make in life can have long lasting repercussions.  We opted to bring Bo back home for summer vacation after his last big event, to save a little money, and give me the opportunity to stuff peppermints at a truly unhealty rate into his snout.  The choice may well have been life saving as six of Bo's barnmates perished in a barn fire a week later.  I can't bring myself to ask if he would have been in that night, and I don't truly want to know.  May God bless those horses who perished, and grant their connections the peace and healing that time brings. 

Bo heads back to the crazy, charming, confident Australian in about a week's time.  I will miss his face in my barn, but look forward to watching him do circles in the sandbox, and run and jump the big fences and the funny colored poles.  And count the days until his face is in my barn once again.

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