Different ear positions (of the horse silly!):
1. frontward position: I like you (or if you’re unlucky; I’m-gonna-spook positon)
2. sideward position: just-try-to-make-me-move
3. backward position: just-you-watch-what-happens-next
Posted by ML
It is your turn to win
I sit on your back as smooth as glass,
you are jumpy and are ready to win
you want to win because it is in your blood and i do as well
It is your turn to win the ride of the year
Around ONE barrel
Around TWO barrels
he just might make three
Weeeha it is a good ride and look at that beautiful gelding that little lady is riding
she wins all the time with having the best friend in the whole world
My horse Dimond!
No amount of pushing, shoving, or bribing will get a Shetland pony to move - unless he wants to.
Posted by Holly.
Stealing Kisses (Delicious Ecstasy)
“So what did you experience just now sitting atop Azure, your first ride?”
“Well, let me see,” I ponder.
“The warmth of her body emanating up against and into me,
So many small muscles in her back rippling and moving;
A worry of how this can possibly be comfortable for her;
Realizing how . . .”
Azure’s nose brushes my cheek.
I pause, graced, almost unbelieving.
Now she rests for a moment against my neck,
then up to my cheek again
her fuzzy horse-lips moving gently.
I turn toward her beautiful dark head,
place my lips on her nose, on the softest part,
and breathe her.
We stand silent, still,
time stops.
So much softness,
offered (to me!)
from all that power;
the scent of her,
the rhythm of her breath tickling me.
I stand, imbibing loveliness.
Eyes closed.
Unafraid.
“I want a relationship with a horse” is what I said to Ginger when I first called her. “I don’t even know what I mean by that, but that’s what I’m looking for.”
Today I caught the scent of Azure –
the scent of churned-up earth and warming sun
of rain-drenched fur and brown dried mud
of heat and horse-love
of playfulness and willingness
of forgiveness.
Of wildness offered up tenderly (to me) -
a gift.
Riding her was nothing compared to
the feel of her nuzzle soft against my cheek.
For fifty years they said the horse was through.
Now look at him— A Status Symbol.
Posted by Elaine.
