My friend is looking for a horse. Naturally, as a
horse-lover, I offered to tag along when she went to see a potential purchase.
Polly found P.T. online and spent two weeks revisiting his
ad. She pored over the pictures of the sleek Thoroughbred, leaping athletically
over sparkling white fences with colorful silk floral bouquets arranged
artfully beneath him. She memorized his pedigree.
.
.
Stop me, if you’ve
heard this one.
Grinning like a kid about to open a Christmas stocking,
Polly steered the car through the entrance of the stables. I glanced at the
hand-carved sign, which sported this tag-line:
“Where humans and horses learn to
fly together.”
At that moment, I had no idea how true that slogan really
was.
My eager equestrian friend parked by the barn aisle entry,
and we stepped out into the sun. Peeking into the barn, we spotted a tall young
lady, wearing a sleeveless polo shirt over tan knee-patch breeches.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
We introduced ourselves, and the girl said she was the
assistant trainer. (Let’s call her Alex, although that’s not her real name.) Polly
explained that we wanted to see P.T.
Alex guided us to his stall, where she haltered the 16-hand
horse.
“He’s a retired racehorse,” she recounted, as she led him
into the aisle. “He belongs to the barn owner, but I can longe him for you. You
can watch, but I can’t let you ride him.”
As Alex curried P.T. and picked out his hooves, I asked her
why the horse was for sale.
“He’s a great horse,” Alex said. “But he’s bucked off everyone
in the barn. We cannot use him for lessons. And the one time we took him to a
show, he tried to climb the trailer. We tied him outside of it to groom him,
and he nearly tipped the whole rig over.”
“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Polly gushed, elbowing me.
“He’s a really nice horse,” Alex said.
“What’s the owner asking for this horse, again?” I asked.
“Just $3,500,” the young equestrian replied.
Alex bent down to strap splint boots on P.T.’s front legs.
“How did he get that nasty scar on his right front?” I
queried.
“We dunno,” she confessed. “He sort of came that way.”
Gee, where do we sign?
I said to myself.
Did I mention my friend Polly is still looking for a horse?
.
.
Image/s:
Thoroughbred Horse by
Linda Ann Nickerson/Nickers and Ink
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