I Miss the Horses
Tales of Summer Camp
Sabre was the sweetest horse I ever met. He was a beautiful blood bay Arabian gelding who had been trained to follow without a lead rope. He was tiny, so slim as to be almost skinny. Once, he stepped on my foot and I hardly noticed.
Flickers was the boss of the herd, a tall strong dapple grey quarter horse mare with a malevolent glint in her eye. She bit me once when I was walking with her on a lead, her head darting in like a snake striking to leave an ugly bruise on my stomach. Sabre was in love her — he would follow her around like a puppy.
Bandit was probably the most well-trained horse I ever rode. She was a tall dark quarter horse mare. We called her “black” but she was technically brown by horse colour rules. She had been a barrel racer in a previous life, and she knew how to do flying lead changes and other things I never learned to ask of her.
Goldy was the prettiest horse I ever saw. Her coat was burnished copper like a new penny and she was a perfectly proportioned Arabian mare, even more perfectly shaped than Sabre. She glowed in the sun. She was beautiful and she knew it, always tossing her mane and prancing.
Rusty was an ugly old dapple grey quarter horse who plodded calmly everywhere you pointed her. She was gentle unless overtired, when she would kick and bite.
