The most glorious sound in the world
Oh, I could not possibly choose.
Maybe it’s the excited neigh, ringing across the field,
Possibly the creak of leather as you sway
Back and forth and back and forth, moving as one
NO! !
The pounding hoof beats announcing his arrival,
The crunch and slurp of an apple.
I cannot decide.

Smell is even harder,
There are so many!
The tack room possibly,
A combination of leather and metal.
Even better, the feed room,
Sweet feed and hay,
Peppermint and molasses,
Or the summer smell of fly spray
No, definitely him
That warm smell of home and a little bit of dirt
My own kind of drug.

And touch, oh the feeling of touch!
The smooth feel of leather
Or the prickly hay of winter
The coarse wood of the old barn
Or the familiar weight of a hoof pick
Without a doubt it’s the hair
Smooth as silk on the back
Rough through the mane and tail
Running your fingers through it as you braid.

But oh, the sights
That’s the best part
My own lil’ slice of heaven
Rolling hills of green, green grass…
Babbling brooks and the flying water of a splash…
The sun, slipping behind the hills after a long day…
That unexplainable color,
The one that mystified me from the beginning
Not red but not brown
A rich cherry-mahogany wood color,
Never consistent, changing with the seasons,
That warm flaming color of him…
And then that blasted white that’s never white
The bane of my showing existence
But when the soap is gone, oh how it sparkles!
And goes so well with a blue ribbon…



In case you hadn't noticed, I love my horse.

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