My first horses’ name was Daddy’s Promise. I started riding when I was five and it was the one and only sport that Ididn’t get tired of after about a month or so. There were, and still are, so many things about it that completely captivated me. And I miss it … frequently.
While in Montana for Easter, my aunt and I went walking around her “neighborhood,” even though Montana doesn’t really have neighborhoods. As we passed a pasture I saw about a dozen horses, fat from a winter of eating endlessly. As I approached the fence, they came wondering over, curious and hoping for carrots no doubt.
One of the things that I love about horses is how unaware they are of personal space. As I stood with my hands in my pockets, they sniffed and nuzzled my face, my hair, and pockets, as they searched for any goodies I might be hiding. They are not shy. They are not afraid to look and feel and smell who you are.
I’d like to have horses again some day. On some land. With a rancher.
Rumor has it the Pioneer Woman has a brother in law