Inspired by challenges at Poet's Place Cafe, a forum designed to hone your writing skills. |
Empty Stable Cobwebs prink the corners of the stalls and the hard packed floor has long since been scraped clean of pine shavings and manure. No more horses in the stable, it's been a while, Miss Mike was our last to go, she slipped away while lying in the pasture with her head on my lap. A catty cow-pony who took me on the ride of my life chasing a calf fleeing castration. In the pecking order she was queen of the herd. Our first was rank old Dolly, she bit and spit and would try to rub off her rider on the nearest tree. She never dumped me probably because I didn't ride her much. Then there was Nugget who woke up in a new world every day. A pinto with gold nuggets painted on white, none prettier but he was the dumbest thing I've ever known. Once he fell in a well, took a tractor and 10 men to get him out. Pride was our baby, my mare's foal, a black, 17 hands and a handful, only horse to throw my husband while training. Spooked by a bear, he broke his neck, record breaking heat that weekend and alone with a dead horse lying in the field was not my finest day. But I've saved the best for last, she was born on St. Patrick's Day, my love, St. Pat. A flashy bay with a single-foot gait, her stride smoother and faster than most horses lope. We were a team, forged rivers, conquered mountains, and once even rode color guard in the Grand National Rodeo. God I loved her! I've out lived them all. My horse days are over which is probably best, what would I look like now trying to get my butt into the saddle? ---Judi Van Gorder "Form of the week: Ubi Sunt" ![]() |