by landofmakebelieve » Tue Nov 18, 2014 10:50 am

Owner;; Snowy Camouflage
Show Name;; Dun With This
Age;; 3 Years
Gender;; Stallion
Art;; Not my lines


Owner;; Snowy Camouflage
Show Name;; Hell On Hooves
Age;; 3 Years
Gender;; Mare
Short-Story;;
→"C'mon, sweety," I murmer softly to my bay mare and she leaps excitedly into a powerful, collected canter. Heels down... Shoulders Back... Chin up... I think as I direct Molly into the large, grassy pasture where we ride.
She nickers and happly tosses her head. I smile and pat her neck. Unlike most times, I am unfocused while riding. My thoughts drift to him. Those curls. Those great eyes. That adorable smile... I shake my head. "Nevermind him, Tyler..." I mutter quietly to myself.
Molly gives a snort with almost every stride and chews the bit, begging me to let her run. Chuckling softly, I trot her to the half-mile strait stretch where I usually let her run. I raise my stirrups and twine my fingers into her black mane.
"GO!" I yell and she bursts forward, giving a delighted buck before she settles in and extends her stride as much as she can, eating up the clover-covered ground. The fenceline and feilds around us are nothing more than a blur of green.
Ever since I was a little girl, all I wanted was to become a jockey, and ride some horse like Secretariat to a brilliant victory. But I'm far too tall to become a jockey. I'm still thinking of an excercise rider though.
As we reach the end of the stretch, I stand in the saddle and struggle to pull up my now very excited mare. Bobbing her head, she eventually gives in and slows back down to a prancy trot. There's no doubt she's half thoroughbred.
After thoroughly cooling her out, I walk her back into the barnyard. I sigh. If only I was able to keep Molly at a real stable. I know she gets lonely sometimes, with only the cows for company, and it breaks my heart. My papa bought her for me to help him cut cattle, but she's become so much more...
After my bay mare is untacked and brushed, I put her bright purple halter back on her, spray her down with fly spray and give her a carrot. I lead her back to her paddock.
The second her halter is off and the gate is shut, she trots back toward the hay, giving tiny bucks of happiness as she goes, her long tail flying. I sit on the gate and watch her for some time before jumping down and walking over to her.
"Hey, pretty," I say softly, stroking her side and she answers with a gentle nicker and a hug, which I have trained her to do. I grab a fist full of her mane and swing up onto her back. As I settle myself, she looks back at me with those dark gorgeous eyes. I can't help but smile as I lay back on her back.
As I drift to sleep, I watch the clouds slowly moving across the bright blue sky...
Last edited by
landofmakebelieve on Wed Nov 19, 2014 10:58 am, edited 2 times in total.

hello, bonjour
please call me believe
herro der mes amis, i am believe. proud canadian, ottb loving, colt breaking, nfr dreaming. pictured on the left is my racetrack reject, landofmakebelieve, aka molly, moo, shmoo, whatever name comes to mind x] molly is a 10 year old canadian bred thoroughbred mare, and standing at about 16.2hh, we look a little wonky when we chase cans, but la dee da that's alright. molly and i tried several disciplines. i tried desperately to get her to catch on to dressage, but unfortunately, she still has the race bred mind and is all go. however, together we found a discipline which we could both enjoy; western gaming. this summer we started travelling to barrel races locally. our current record on a standard size pattern is 17.314 and we are improving with every run. and to all the low budget barrel racers out there such as myself, a word of advise; chin up darling. you may not have a million dollar mount under your butt, but you and your crossbred, rejected, hard headed, rescue baby can do it. you know why? cause those girls sitting in their custom circle y's, upon shiny, top of the line mounts are full of themselves. they think there's no way they can lose. they get cocky. stay humble, believe in yourself, in your horse, and most importantly ride your little heart out.