Fresh Apples

True Tail

I don't mean the crunchy morsels in varying shades of red, yellow and green that bear the name of Macintosh, Red Delicious or Granny Smith. No, I'm referring to the slightly pungent piles left on the ground by a beloved equine. The scent carries with it the comfort of one of the most beautiful and graceful of God's creatures.

 

My mom went in for surgery a couple days ago so it's been my job to pick up these piles along with feeding this majestic beast. Even though the temperature decided to drop this week, accompanied by a bitter wind that cuts right through, I don't mind scooping up apples.

 

I lived with my mom following my divorce in the same house I was raised in. After spending my entire life envisioning a horse out in the empty acre or so of land, she finally attained one. She spotted the 3 month old colt when we went to the saddlery a few miles down the road. We had taken my daughter there to feed grass to the horses through the fence. It was my daughter's birthday and the young man caring for the horses had no problem saddling one up for her to enjoy being led around.

 

So there he was, this adorable chesnut bundle with staggered white stockings and a blaze down the length of his forehead. Mom decided he was to be hers and strangely enough he hadn't been spoken for yet. We generally visited twice daily and worked with him on lead rope.

 

It was so peaceful out there looking over the land with the herd of Arabians scattered across the pasture. Upon our arrival they would gather around us for the customary kisses and hugs. Ernie, the owner, said you shouldn't do that with horses, but he knew we always had to sneak them in. So this was the way our baby was raised.

 

To this day, before entering his area, the first thing I do is go nose to nose with him through the gate. We exhale at each other to give our scents and then I kiss his muzzle. You haven't lived until you've kissed the velvety muzzle of a horse. I go about the chores with intervals of hugs and kisses and petting and scratching him. He makes me remember to smell the apples.. err.. roses.

 

Ernie passed away last year, but we'll always have the memories of sitting in the grass out in his pasture among the herd watching the sun go down and even welcoming a couple new foals into the world. Plus we have our 'Supreme Blaze N Glory' or 'Blaze' as we call him.

 

Thank you, Ernie, for giving us a little bit of heaven on earth. May you always ride on the backs of horses that never tire in a body that never hurts.

Author's Note

Written in 2007