5/6/2023 0 Comments Catch a lover butt![]() ![]() It has only been a few weeks ago that I had to put him down, and it wasn’t the way I would have had my old friend go. He never hesitated, taking that impossible incline with a bold heart and, somehow, scrambled us over the top. I didn’t think we could make it, but I did the only thing I could-I leaned low and grabbed his mane and told him it was up to him to save our bacon. We couldn’t turn around if we stopped or slowed, we would have fallen over backward. Halfway up, it got worse, and then for a short distance, it was an almost vertical cliff. Although many horses would have panicked, he stood patiently through the night, waiting for me to come get him out of the mess.Īnother time, I made a poor decision, taking a path in the woods that turned out far steeper than it looked. On another occasion, he got tangled in barbwire. Then he stood, trembling, waiting until I could come fix the problem. But even in the awkward, frightening position he was in, Dune knew I was there and danced to keep from stepping on me. I had landed painfully and couldn’t move, and I felt his hooves all around me and brushing my back. Trying to get away from this pressure on his mouth, he backed, slipping in a pile of dry leaves. The reins caught behind the back of the saddle, pulling Dune’s head up and back. Once, a loop of vine caught me and swept me off backwards. Most of the time, it was just him and me-jumping over a barrel, exploring a path in the woods, or making our own path. We tried a show once, but he was so excited, he neighed at every horse he saw, his whole body vibrating so hard I had to grab the saddle. Somewhat idiotically, I rode him most of the time alone. ![]() ![]() The blood of race horses pulsed in him, and it was a thrilling, humbling experience to sit atop that explosion of power. I usually aimed him at a long uphill grade to be sure I could rein him back in. All I had to do was lean forward and grab his mane, his signal to let ‘er rip, and we were off. On the other hand, the moment I got in the saddle– Katie, bar the door! He loved to run and to jump, though apparently only with a rider, as I never saw him do either in the pasture. If a child was on his back, I had to chase him with a stick to get him to move faster than a walk, and that would only be successful for a few feet, then he was back to a steady walk. When a child led him, he walked slowly and carefully, his head lowered to the top of the little human’s head, and each foot placed as if on an eggshell. I taught several kids how to ride over the years, or perhaps it is more accurate to say that Dune taught them. He was a gentle giant with children as well as kittens, though he never cared much for dogs. Just after that, the straw near his hooves stirred, and I realized barn kittens had come in to snuggle during the cool of night, and my big horse was afraid to move lest he hurt them! I knew then he was a special boy. Then I noticed a tiny furry head looking over his back. Only a sick horse would stay down like that. He lay still and didn’t get to his feet when I approached, as instinct would have normally urged him to do. One day I walked into the barn and saw him down in his stall. ![]() In the early days, before we moved to the country, I would get up before dawn and drive out to the farm where I boarded him, ride, get home, shower and go to work. Like some men, Dune pretended he was not interested in affection and had to play hard to catch for at least a few minutes. I fell off him more than once and pay for it now with various aches and pains, but I don’t regret that either. Over the twenty-six years we were together, he saved my life twice and just about got me killed an equal number of times. He was a bay-brown with black stockings, a little white chip on one heel, a sweet face with a sickle-shaped splash of white on his forehead and bright, kind eyes.įor reasons I would never understand, but never regretted, my friend passed him by, and Dune was mine. I called him, Dune, after a book by one of my favorite authors. His registered name was Nikka Doone Sugar Bars. Only four years old, he had not filled out yet. He was big and moved with an easy, if unsophisticated, grace that made him a joy to ride. I have no idea why, except I knew he was to be mine, though a friend had arranged this meeting and first choice was hers. I fell in love the moment I saw his bony butt. ![]()
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