I've always enjoyed watching Megan train. I'm leaning against Tricky door, she's my horse. Needless to say I don't compete. Her first horse is a Lipizzaner. He is a beautiful flea bitten grey. His show name is Dancing Fireflies, but everybody calls him Fly. Heβs a gelding, and stands at 15.3hh. Then, thereβs Sweetie. Sweetie is a Chestnut mare with a white blaze on her face and four white socks. Her show name is Spun-Sugar Sweetness. She stands at 15.1hh, and is her youngest horse, making her way into show jumping. Last but definitely not least, there's her American Quarter, Sunny. Sunny is a sorrel 15.6hh stallion with one white sock, a stripe and a snip. His show name is Sunkissed Mornings.
Today, she starts off with Sweetie. I like Sweetie, but she's still a bit green, and sometimes I worry. If she spooks at a jump, Meg could get seriously hurt. But if I know that girl, she's just get right back up and try again. I watch as she leads the five-year-old and ties her with the crossties. She starts grooming the mare, but because I'm such a gentlewoman, I swoop in to tack up for her. She laughs at me when I struggle with the girth- it's a different saddle compared to what I use for Tricky, and a different girth. She stands in front of me, and takes my hand in hers- hers are so much softer than mine, because I never wear gloves and she does. Her fingers are cool and precise as they guide mine through the girth. We're right up close to each other, and my arms slip down to her waist.
Her eyes survey the barn, and then gently pull my hands off of her waist when she sees Allie, one of the younger summer camp riders. She doesn't want anyone to see us, she says. Allie disappears temporarily into the feed room, and I swoop in for a quick kiss. She tips her head back to better slot our lips together, and then remembers herself and pulls away. She buisies herself with doing final checks for Sweetie's tack, and I move to pet the Chesnut's head. She nudges her nose into my palms, and I sigh. She's so beautiful- and I wish I was talking about the horses. I follow her into the tack room, where she dawn her gloves, and helmet, smoothing over the pale cream Pollo patterned with small, navy polka dots tucked into pristine navy jodhpurs. Her gloves and boots are made from the same brown leather as her saddle and bridle. I watch as she braids her hair before putting her helmet on.
I follow her outside, and into the arena close by the barn. I sit myself on one of the fence posts and watch as she does her warm-ups- pacing practice, trotting poles, stops and starts and the like. Then she moves onto the bigger jumps. I watch as her and Sweetie effortlessly clear jump after jump, until the water jump. Sweetie's always been a bit spooky about water, but today she really spooks. I watch in horror as the Chestnut rears, and the love of my life nearly falls off. I rush up to catch the mare's reins as she mini-rears again, heart in my throat. My love insists she's fine, but I still make her get down so I can hug her.
She tries to reason that we shouldn't, but nobody but us is around. She dismounts and I pull her into my arms quickly, closing my eyes and burying my face in her neck. My arms are tight around her, and she hides our bodies behding Sweetie, who is now tied up by her reins and sniffing some grass under the fence like nothing happened. She rubs my back and murmurs Spanish I don't understand, but it makes me feel better. I think I'm probably more worked-up about this whole ordeal than she us. I just love her, and I don't know what I'd do with myself if she got hurt or couldn't ride again.