Michelle has more or less concluded that I should take up riding with her. I knew it was coming. I had pretty much come to that same conclusion myself.
If ever I am to become a horseman, if ever I am to shed my ancient "concern" for equines, now is the time. A former cop, a former firefighter, a former medic, a former everything, Michelle should be able to handle any and all recreation-related mishaps this child might throw at her, be they broken backs, necks, legs, or wings administered by bucking broncs, or be they kicks to the coconut, chest or rib cage. I would be in good hands. But more than anything else, after hanging around the stable and feeding her gentle, good-natured paint, "Sun-D," my growing confidence stems from the steed herself. I am convinced that this may be the one horse in all creation that was born to be ridden by me. Michelle assures me that this is indeed the case. And so, while Ms. Michelle confidently mounts "Finney" (above) and gallops away hi-ho atilt, I will climb aboard Sun-D and nervously give her a whirl. Together we four will ride off into the palmy sunset along the miles of bridal paths that wind through this community. It should be a picture-perfect way of putting to rest my hossophobia. However, if this blog proves the last blog from yours truly, the answer will be clear--I was DEAD wrong on all the above counts.
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