Getting it Right

So, I've had my horse Vandy since 1990, and that's a nice collection of years. And she might be headed out of this world, soon. Soon. I'm sort of putting the final word off on this. As she is comfortable, happy, certainly not in any pain, promise you that. But she's losing weight.

She is such an interesting being to know, and I've been interested in knowing her being for longer than anyone else in my life.

Let me tell you the best thing about Vandy. When I decided to buy a horse, there was another registered quarter horse for sale named Rose. Rose was 12 years old, and probably would have been the perfect horse for me. Well-behaved, good looking.

I don't know what drew me to Vandy. Wait, yes I do. She had the most beautiful face. Her face hasn't changed. On her quarter horse registration papers, her markings are: Star, Strip, Snip. She has a white star on her forehead, a white strip down her face, a white snip just above her upper lip.

She's a bay. Black points on her legs, black tail, black mane. In winter her coat is a deep brown, and in summer, she's a chestnut.

Back to what drew me to Vandy, other than her physical beauty. Though only 15 hands and change, she's a natural at dressage. Her body is built that way -- long pasterns, and the right kind of head and chest and collection. One day I'll figure out how to describe the poetry of riding my Vandy.

She moves with great drama and precision. And she's a diva, who has tossed me off her back, oh, maybe 20 times? Probably more. But that's only resulted in three or four trips to ER, one cast, and, I don't know, maybe 15 stitches, total. Oh, wait,then there was also the leg-thing, but that healed by itself.

If Vandy could speak for herself, she could tell you about the time I rode her so hard, she pulled her suspensory ligaments and was laid up for six months. And another time we rode high up the hills, she bucked her shins when a mountain bike came careening down the hill.

And then my friend Debbie could talk about the time Vandy sucker kicked her horse in the chest, and blood shot out like a fountain, and we pulled the saddles from our horses, left the saddles on the trail and used the saddle pads as compresses to stop the bleeding, as we walked two miles back to the stables.

All was well; in every case -- we were fine. And ready to ride again. I could never say this about another human, but with my animals, I treasure some scars. The one on my leg and my hand from breaking up a fight with Bru; and the knot on the back of my head, the bump on my shin, and a slightly shorter little finger -- that's Vandy.