Grieving a Gelding
Grieving a Gelding - Recalling a Favorite Horse
My friend just lost her horse.
A gorgeous black-and-white American Paint Horse (APHA) gelding, Jireh was the envy of the pasture. He boasted perfect conformation and an affectionate disposition. Proudly, he stood 17 hands high, with his abundant mane ruffling in the wind.
Jireh belonged to Mindy, a fun-loving teen girl with 8,000 freckles and highlights in her dusty blonde hair.
For years, when Mindy arrived at the stables each day, she would leave her carrots by his stall and race to the pasture to find her pal. Without fail, Jireh would hear her footfalls in the dirt, look up from his busy grazing, throw his giant head in the air and blast for the gate. Inches from the fence, he would halt suddenly, tossing up his own private dust-storm.
Mindy would climb up on the gate to drape her arms around Jireh's neck. And all would be well. She would stand on the gate, swing one leg up on her giant horse, and ride him bareback to the barn, with just a lead rope tucked in his halter.
We never figured out how she did it, although we all swore Jireh bent down to help her up onto his back.
Perhaps he understood.
We knew the truth about Mindy, although we seldom spoke of it. Barns have no secrets, after all.
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