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Young colt
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<blockquote data-quote="TexasJerseyMilker" data-source="post: 1771819" data-attributes="member: 42782"><p>The first and greatest horse of my life lived to be 40. I bought her with my babysitting money. We must have traveled 1000s and 1000s of miles in the West Coast mountains, hills and forests. She never refused to go anywhere, wherever you pointed her she would go. She would swim in lakes and across rivers, she would slide down bluffs then jump creeks. Half thoroughbred half quarter horse, Tamar had the mind and muscle of a quarter horse with the skeletal structure and heart of a thoroughbred. She went towards a screaming mountain lion another time towards a bear on the trail because I asked. She outran every horse I ever raced her against because she would allow no horse to run in front of her. She brought me home safely through the hills in storms at night. She would put her head low to see her way, flinching whenever a tree fell with a crash. A teenage rider will take take such foolish risks. She saved my life a few of times and I saved hers. She made me survive my youth and I made her survive her old age.</p><p></p><p>I came home from one night from the hospital and found Tamar dead on the ground. I could see by the marks in the sand that she had not suffered. She had gone in to get drink in the barn, come back out and fell dead. I sat on a bucket by her head and did not cry. She had been with me for 35 years. Could I have wanted her to live longer? No.</p><p></p><p>My cowboy friend came the next day with his tractor and dragged her body away into the woods. I walked behind her body and he kindly covered her head with his coat so I would not see her dead face. I covered her body with flowers and built little fence around her so scavengers could not scatter her bones because I wanted to keep them. Years later I went back to her grave. But the forest had overgrown and I could not find the place . Then in 2011 there was a forest fire that revealed to me her white horse bones. So now I keep them in a box because it is my will that she be buried with me. Such a one comes once in life and does not come again. Now I am married to that cowboy. He is another that comes only once in life. How fortunate we are to know such creatures - for a long time or even for a short time. Let us count our blessings.</p><p></p><p>I always used to scorn those horse controlling people who rode in riding arenas in those days. I wanted to run free with a horse over the hills. Yet 50 years later I know to strive for that touch, the mere suggestion of it, and it's instant release, to get that aliveness between the rider and the horse that they whirl and skitter away, dance sideways, tuck themselves and prance. This is what I strive for. These are more ways of talking. I have learned that a horse is talking to you every minute, even just standing there, with their body language.</p><p></p><p>[ATTACH=full]22894[/ATTACH]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="TexasJerseyMilker, post: 1771819, member: 42782"] The first and greatest horse of my life lived to be 40. I bought her with my babysitting money. We must have traveled 1000s and 1000s of miles in the West Coast mountains, hills and forests. She never refused to go anywhere, wherever you pointed her she would go. She would swim in lakes and across rivers, she would slide down bluffs then jump creeks. Half thoroughbred half quarter horse, Tamar had the mind and muscle of a quarter horse with the skeletal structure and heart of a thoroughbred. She went towards a screaming mountain lion another time towards a bear on the trail because I asked. She outran every horse I ever raced her against because she would allow no horse to run in front of her. She brought me home safely through the hills in storms at night. She would put her head low to see her way, flinching whenever a tree fell with a crash. A teenage rider will take take such foolish risks. She saved my life a few of times and I saved hers. She made me survive my youth and I made her survive her old age. I came home from one night from the hospital and found Tamar dead on the ground. I could see by the marks in the sand that she had not suffered. She had gone in to get drink in the barn, come back out and fell dead. I sat on a bucket by her head and did not cry. She had been with me for 35 years. Could I have wanted her to live longer? No. My cowboy friend came the next day with his tractor and dragged her body away into the woods. I walked behind her body and he kindly covered her head with his coat so I would not see her dead face. I covered her body with flowers and built little fence around her so scavengers could not scatter her bones because I wanted to keep them. Years later I went back to her grave. But the forest had overgrown and I could not find the place . Then in 2011 there was a forest fire that revealed to me her white horse bones. So now I keep them in a box because it is my will that she be buried with me. Such a one comes once in life and does not come again. Now I am married to that cowboy. He is another that comes only once in life. How fortunate we are to know such creatures - for a long time or even for a short time. Let us count our blessings. I always used to scorn those horse controlling people who rode in riding arenas in those days. I wanted to run free with a horse over the hills. Yet 50 years later I know to strive for that touch, the mere suggestion of it, and it's instant release, to get that aliveness between the rider and the horse that they whirl and skitter away, dance sideways, tuck themselves and prance. This is what I strive for. These are more ways of talking. I have learned that a horse is talking to you every minute, even just standing there, with their body language. [ATTACH type="full" alt="Tamar (2).JPEG"]22894[/ATTACH] [/QUOTE]
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