by iStarz & Everly » Wed Apr 20, 2016 12:45 pm
As I approached his stall, Bermingham nicked at me, calling my attention. I smiled, once I reached the door I touched his nose and offered him a peppermint, as I did every morning. I unlatched his stall, sliding the door open. My hand grasped his halters as I walked him out into the isle. I clipped him to the cross ties and scratched his cheek.
I ducked under the cross tie and dug around in his grooming box. I returned to him with a curry comb. I started at his withers, working my way along his topline, then down over his barrel. When i finished on his right side, I ducked under his neck to work on his other side. Once that was finished, I took a soft bristle brush and brushed down his neck, and chest. I took it over his back and withers until he was fully brushed.
I soon took a comb and went through his mane, ad then his tail, picking out all the tangles. Then I took a hoof pick and cleaned out each of his feet. After I had completely groomed him, I went over to his tack box, picking up his saddle cloth I placed it onto his back, followed by his saddle. Strapping the cinch tight.
I came to his face and scratched his cheek before offering him the bit to his bridle. He took it willingly and I fixed the cheek strap together. Then I put the reins over his head and uncliped him from the cross ties. As I walked him out of the barn, his mood picked up and he wickered to me. I smiled softly and mounted up into the western saddle on his back. I gripped the reins in one hand and the horn in the other and nudged him with my heals. He broke into a lovely lope and down the dirt trail we went.
Once we were down the trail a ways and had made it into the open fields, I asked Bermingham for speed. And boy did he give it. He dug deep, letting his long forelegs reach forward and eat the earth. His stride lengthened and his topline flattened out as his neck stretched forward.I ducked down and leaned over his withers, lifting my body out of the saddle. My hands were on his neck now, fingers buried in his silvery mane as it whipped at my face.
As the treeline grew near, i let him ease up. He slowed gradually until we were about 100 yards from the treeline. The began to trot and then down to a walk. He huffed his appreciation as his freedom. We always enjoyed that run across the long field.
We walked now, under the tall, lanky pines. The air smelled of sap and moss, and even a bit damp. But it was a good smell. Fresh and serene. When i heard the creek flowing, Bermingham got excited and had a little bounce to his step. We reached the clearing where the long grass licked at Bermingham's knees. It was tall and flowing. I dismounted and walked him over to the creek bed. I kicked off my boots and pulled off my socks, stuffing them into the boot nearest me before dipping my toes into the water. My feet rested on the pebble filled sand at the bottom. And I encouraged Bermingham into the water after me. He dipped his head taking in long gulps of the cool water. When he was done, he waded in up to his hocks and pawed at the flowing surface, splashing himself and me. I laughed. How fun this was.
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