Her name was Lacota. A Native American name, but it suited her. She was around 19 or 20. She could have been 21, but you couldn’t tell it. We were together for about three years, give or take.
At first, she was a little shy and didn’t trust me. She warmed up to me once I convinced her that I wouldn’t hurt her. When she got to know me better, she would try to do anything I asked her to do.
Her legs were a little stiff, so she couldn’t run very well. She walked well but got tired easily. We probably should have worked out more and she would have gotten stronger and more agile.
She was always a little nervous and spooky. Suspicion was always a big thing with her. It’s like she thought that what she didn’t know was going to eat her. Once she got so agitated over something that she dumped me. I forgave her, though and she let me lead her back. I knew it wasn’t her fault.
It got hard for me to take care of her. I lived in another town and couldn’t be with her as often as I needed to be. When I got on her, it was like she had to get used to me all over again. Other folks had to take care of her for me.
Finally, I had to let her go. I still think about her. I’d like to ride her again, but I’m probably too old. I miss the time we had together.
She was the best horse I ever had.