Twenty three or so years ago I was struggling. I was at a college that I hated, eating up my parents’ money on an education that I didn’t have a clue how to utilize. Just before the end of the final semester of my freshman year M told me about a lady she knew that worked with Mustangs and how she had a little weanling that was for sale. M wanted me to go look, so on a weekend escaping the hell of higher education I snaked through the back roads and found Belle.
She was tiny and spunky and full of challenge. I was in love. $300 later I was the proud owner of a ’92 Mustang, brown with black trim… my college friends didn’t find the humor, sadly.
Belle started my career as a trainer. She was trained “out the wazoo” and it was with a broken heart that I realized that the little bay mare was only ever going to be a horse first thing in the morning as by noon she was well under 14.2hh.
Belle was never an easy ride. She was a challenge and many of my students had spectacular bolts and falls due to her sass and attitude.
I loved her though. She saved me when I was lost and didn’t know what to do with myself after I left school. I nearly killed her with my ineptitude on more than one occasion and I learned a lot of my more subtle and softer training methods while working with Belle.
She was a fixture in the pastures, the last of my original stock of horses.
This morning she woke up on the other side of the rainbow bridge in a big beautiful pasture, with Spring and Brandy, Aimee and Alise, Baxter and little Seiji… and all the others… with no fences and all the grass and watermelon she could ever want.