My name is Peachey Keen, and I am a horse. Barely. I am fourteen hands, plus two inches. My girl calls me “Tanto”, telling me I am like her sidekick, or something. I don’t remember the day I was born, so I’m not really sure how old I am, but the guy who made me feel violated by putting his hands in my mouth said I’m ten or eleven years old. It makes sense, because I was already a few years past what my girl calls “terrible-twos” (I’m glad I never had them, it sounds hideous!), and I have had her for 5 years now. Before I met my new people, I was miserable. I lived in a dirt pasture with straw for dinner and saggy fences. I only saw the boy when he came to ride me, and he hurt me if I didn’t understand his hard hands. Strangely, I didn’t meet my girl first. I met who she calls “Dad”. When I first met Dad, I knew he didn’t know much about me, or other horses. He came to my fence, and I greeted him excitedly, with multiple licks on his hand. I knew Dad had been bitten by some overzealous horse before, because he got tense after a couple slurps.
I kept licking him, because it makes me very happy. Dad told me that his girls’ first horse, which was very old, had gone to the big green pastures, and there was an emptiness that couldn’t be ignored. Dad left, and I thought that was the last I’d see of him. The next evening, I saw Dad cross the road, and I rushed to the fence and greeted him with my best nicker. He didn’t come to see me, and I felt lonelier than ever. After a while, Dad came outside, and told me I was his, now. I couldn’t wait to go home, but he had to go get a “trailer”, because home was over 150 miles away, whatever those things were. Three days later, I finally met my girl. She was excited, but I could feel her sadness deep inside. They opened the metal box, and as much I as wanted to go home with them, I had never been in a trailer before, and was very scared. After a few hours, I decided that getting in the small metal box would be better than staying here. We went home, and those three hours were the longest of my life. When we arrived home, I got out of the trailer, and my girl took me to my new pasture, where I met the mare, and the other horse. He looked like a stallion but acted like a mare. I never did figure out what was wrong with him. We enjoyed eating all the hay we could graze on, and some kind of bagged oats with other tasty things.
I had never been ridden very well, so I was very aggressive to my girl when she wanted to ride me. Looking back, I realize I was very naughty. I never even gave her a chance. But, she was patient with me, and I loved her all the more for it. Rather than riding me, we went on three mile walks every day, along her road in huge, beautiful fields. After almost two years of not being asked to carry her, I thought she would never want to ride me, and I was ashamed of myself. But, I now know she was quite conflicted. She grew up riding something called “Western”, but had been riding something else called “English”, and loved it, but she was afraid to start riding me in “English”, because she didn’t know nearly as much about it as “Western”. Something answered her problem, and she began riding me “Western”. She had a little man come out, and he asked me to run around in circles while my girl was on the outside of the arena and then he told her “I’m not training this horse, he only watches you.” She has been the only one to ride me since, and I’m okay with that.
Now, almost three years later, my girl has started doing things a little differently, the way she rides is different, though not in a bad way. I know she has been riding another horse, but I have no doubt she is still mine. I think she is going to ride me in “English”, but I am not afraid. I have so much freedom to move in this little thing she puts on my back, and she moves just like me, almost like we’re all one piece. Some of the things confuse me, but I’m sure another horse can explain them to me. I’m going from a dirt pasture to fancy English horse!
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