Gwinivere

She believes it was fate that led her to accidentally 

list her horse for sale under French Bulldogs.

I know it was God's work that led me to look at 

French Bulldogs and find a misplaced horse ad.

When it was all said and done and the dust had settled, 

we were scheduling a trailer to move my new horse to the stables near our home,
and my life had changed in the blink of an eye.

Her name is Gwinivere. 

She's a beautiful sorrel Appaloosa with a white blaze down her face. 

She stands 15 hands and makes my heart race. 

The minute I laid eyes on her, and she laid an eye on me, 

it was settled between us; 

I belonged to her, and she belonged to me. 

And I trembled inside, having never felt this way since 

my first horse (also an Appaloosa) exactly 20 years ago.

When her owner's husband said he'd walk her so I could watch from behind, 

I involuntarily thought to myself, 

I don't care if this horse falls down in the isle and seizes... she's mine.

That's when I knew I was in trouble love.

I scrapped my pulse and strapped my logic back on for 

the remainder of my time with the two horses I was there to look at. 

But my spirit never let go of Gwinivere. 

not for a second.

And today is finally the big day. The day I get to bring her home. 

The waiting has been on a steep incline of impatience 

whose anxiety has only been relieved by butterflies and girlish daydreaming.

I've been flooded with memories and brought back to 

my beginning with horses and my love for them.

I remember riding as a little girl. 

At my Uncle Jack's farm, and on the side of the road 

when my favorite most spoiling Aunt Susie would 

pull her car over to ask strangers to let me ride their horses.

I remember moving to the country at 11 and having neighbors with horses. 

I would walk to their house after school and on hot summer days. 

I would sit at their pasture line and sing to the horses. 

I would pick grass and feed them, 

pat their warm, muscular sides whenever they got close enough. 

I was fascinated, in awe, and heart-struck.

The day my Dad told me that he and my Mom had 

bought me a real horse of my own, I thought I would burst. 

I loved that horse so much.

I rode almost everyday. 

Sometimes, I would even get up early in the mornings to ride before school. 

My horse would lay his body out in a full gallop in the acres behind my house, 

and we would become one with the sky. 

I would nap on the hay stack next to his stable. 

I would climb up and lay on his bareback while he ate grass in the open yard 

and I read a book in the sun. 

My brother, his friends, and I would ride bareback in the field and swamp 

playing portholes and dimensions with plastic swords and throwing stars. 

Having a horse was my dream come true. 

Loosing him two and half years later would be 

the end of my horse love, for two decades.

We tried to replace him. 

My parents bought me another horse, 

and later, my husband leased me a horse for months while we were dating. 

But I just never felt that kind of connection with another horse again.

Until now...