Soft whiskers probe my hands. His breath whuffs across my arm, and I shiver.
He nudges my knee, and lowers his head.
He wants it.
I pull the treat from my pocket, and soft lips close over it.
Crunch.
He licks his lips and sighs.
Cappy and I have an understanding. We argue; we cooperate; but in the end, I’m in charge.
Firefly Farm is a hub of activity in the summer. Honey left us yesterday to spend time at Autumn Breeze Acres, where she’ll be bred to Amber Williams’ horse Rolex. He’s the stud I intended for Melody (after Awemost Dun died.) Apparently Honey is acting her usual gentle, sweet self.
Suzi Q. attended two shows this spring and brought home an extensive array of ribbons–and a trophy.
I expanded the mare and gelding pastures, planted a weeping willow tree, and have mowed down weeds in the pasture as they crop up.
Work, work, work.
Time to play.
Today is Cappy’s day. His coppery chestnut coat gleams. (On a related note, my arms are sore.) He willingly stands on the pedestal, and as of this morning, will do so with a tarp over his body. He lunges–walk, trot, and canter–to the left, and walks on the lunge line to the right. He accepts the bridle and bit. I can lay across his back facing both directions and he stands still. I can use direct reining to make him change direction.
Cappy is brilliant. He’s fun to work with.
In 11 months, Honey will bring a new project into the world. Someone I can take to shows who will earn ribbons. Someone who will stand in the shade of my weeping willow tree and swish his or her tail. I’ll brush my foal until my arms look like that of a bodybuilder.
(Well, maybe not that much.)
