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Derby reach…

November 10, 2012

As Alexander states,

The secret of your relationship with a horse is that you must love her essence…

You must feel her pain, fright and discomfort as your own…

You must love her viewpoint and try to share it…

The secret of a horse’s soul is that a horse owes you nothing and has no need to obey you…

— in Beyond the Dream Horse by Michael Bevilacqua

Recently,

on a crisp,

sunny,

Fall afternoon,

I brushed,

the muddy back,

of a race horse…

Considering all,

the threats,

of biting,

and kicking,

the last time,

I’d tried,

I couldn’t believe,

he let me,

but he did…

And as I moved,

the brush,

in circles,

he hugged,

my shoulder,

with his big head,

and I heard him say,

I’m sorry…

Thank you,

for seeing past,

my behaviour,

while I was confined,

to a 9X9 foot stall,

for 23.40 hours per day,

seven days per week,

for 9 months,

with an aching back…

I know,

that you know,

who I really am,

and for that,

I am grateful…

As I stepped,

to the other side,

of him,

to complete,

the task at hand,

I saw,

the tears,

in the corner,

of his wall eye,

and felt,

my own fall…

Horses are stoic,

and they’ll do what,

it takes,

to get the job done,

even if,

they really,

don’t like,

the job…

I have a lot,

of respect for that…

But being a person,

who finds great joy,

in the happiness,

of others,

I want,

to help,

this horse,

find himself,

doing the things,

that he loves…

Doing the things,

that make his speakers,

go boom boom…

Playing those songs,

that were silenced,

as a two year old,

when he was sent,

to be gelded,

and broken,

in order,

to make him easier,

for handling,

by others…

When a horse,

runs,

and kicks,

and plays,

in the mud,

tossing his mane,

and tail,

calling to his herd mates,

well then you know,

he is happy…

And there is nothing,

quite like,

a happy horse,

who chooses,

of his own accord,

to walk,

shoulder,

to shoulder,

in any direction,

you both,

want to go,

together…

Sometime,

after the cry,

over the fence,

with the dude,

with an attitude,

I stood,

in a stall,

with his grandmother,

while she ate,

her beet pulp,

with 28 year old teeth…

I brushed the lines,

of her mane,

and tail,

the deep curve,

of her spine,

from the weight,

in her womb,

of making,

those 15 babies,

for the perpetuation,

of a man’s game…

This mare,

who ran,

her heart out,

through five years,

of racing,

in front of,

the grandstand…

When you,

share space,

with so much,

fortitude,

packed into,

one body,

the buckling,

of knees,

in a fall,

from grace,

is inevitable…

And as I got up,

from the fall,

the old lady,

as she’s referred to,

looked right into me,

with her ancient eye,

and said,

THIS is the stuff,

I am made of…

And with those words,

she shook me,

all night long…

I’m more than a bird, I’m more than a plane…

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