I once owned the best horse in the world. It’s true, everybody wanted him. He was a perfect blood bay, no markings. Oh, he had about four white hairs where a star would have formed if hairs multiplied like fungi, but they don’t, so no star. He was 15.2 hands, and finely muscled from carrying me around for a minimum of two hours every day. I fed him an all-grain mix, heavy with molasses, cut with a bag of 12% sweet feed because I hadn’t been educated. And of course, I added a supplement for hoof growth, one that’s probably not around anymore, replaced by a fancier, daily-dose, with more attractive packaging, and marketed on all the right websites. I fed a supplement derived from seaweed and it worked great but smelled terrible. But my beautiful Saddlebred consumed it willingly.

This horse would walk through fire for me. He was spirited, and every time I lost my balance, I could feel him shift to accommodate by oaf-like tendencies. He tried to help me look graceful. But I sometimes still wound up on the ground, and he would stop, and look down at me pityingly…maybe with a touch of disdain. I’d dust my breeches off and climb back on, shaking my head at myself.

He was beautiful, and people would stop their cars in the middle of the road to watch us. I’m not kidding. Every time I took him to a horse show or parade I would have no less than three offers on him. My uncle, the horse trader, offered me a tidy little sum for him once, and I doubled the figure to learn his true worth.

He was no trick pony, but I could crawl all over him. I could stand on his back, and if I had possessed better skills, I’m sure I could have ridden him at a gallop this way. He would “shake hands” and park out and swish his tail when we broke to a canter. He stood for the farrier and loaded easily and was broke to the bit, even lowering his head for ease. I don’t know of a single quality this horse didn’t possess.

After I had to have him put down, I wasn’t looking for another horse. But they’re kinda like dogs, sometimes they find you. I found out about a little filly this man wanted rid of. She sounded like a challenging project, which I’m all for, and I sent the guy I was dating at the time with a wad of money to pick her up.

Everything was wrong with this situation. The boyfriend had been around horses his whole life, but couldn’t tell she had been drugged. She walked right up to him and allowed him to halter her and lead her. She was a petite little Arab cross, with a crazy blaze that trailed off her nose about halfway down like a kid had fallen asleep with their crayon. She had one white sock and her coat was a sunburned black. She appeared well fed and delicately muscled. She loaded fine, so she was transported to the old dairy barn on his property in Maryville, where she would spend the next few months subjected to such horrors as saddling, cross ties, and lunging. Lots and lots of lunging.

Every day was a battlefield. Some days it started the moment I walked in the barn, sometimes I could have been riding for twenty minutes before she snapped. Let me tell you, I know the placement of every rock on that farm. And more than one cow patty. You could cut the tension around her with a knife when she was fixing to explode. I’ve never been around another horse like her. If she were human, they would have medicated her for bi-polar disorder. It was an adjustment for me, to learn anew that not all steeds are created equal. Where my Saddlebred met me at the gate every day with a nicker, this sassy bitch would kick the stall door and flatten her ears. He would nearly ground tie, she had 3/8 logging chains for cross ties. Where I could ride over bridges and past balloons with my gelding, this little hussy would flip her idiot switch over a leaf blowing across the path.

She was the best horse I could have had for the time.

So remember, when you’re broken, the person who shows up and is totally different than what you’ve grown accustomed to may be the very best one for your heart. Maybe not forever, maybe just while you heal, but maybe you shouldn’t write off the opposite. Maybe their quicksilver demeanor will teach you to keep your heart guarded. Maybe their lackadaisical nature will remind you to slow down. Perhaps they show you a side you forgot you had because it’s been covered up by everything else you became.

I hope that your anxious heart can find a way to a corner with a giant leafy plant, and a weighted blanket, and a glass of water. I hope that everything is still, and calm, and uncomplicated. I hope that you can find another heart that makes you feel safe and well loved. I hope that you find a way to love someone that is easy to be around. Someone who you’re not having to guess their next move. And I hope we all live happily ever after.

Love from Appalachia,

~ Amy