Cowboys and Mustangs

Son of A- Codi

I grab my coffee mug, filled with my classic white chocolate mocha as I leave the warmth of my cabin. Today's forecast called for a few light rain showers and a very cloudy day. Not really a picture perfect day for a first date.

I hated to admit it, but I was nervous for Weston and I'd date. What if I burn the food or he doesn't what I make? Oh man, what am I going to cook for him? What am I going to wear? Should I dress up and actually do my hair or should I dress a nice casual? What if I look like a mess and feel uncomfortable the whole time? Or what if my inner shyness comes out and I make it really awkward between him and I? What if he doesn't show up? Oh god, if he doesn't come tonight, I don't know what I'll do.

Give up on men is what I'd do.

I just have to calm down and think of the possible positive outcomes of tonight. It could go really well and eventually we would go on another date some other time. I could learn a lot more about Weston, and maybe see a side he shows nobody else. My feelings toward him could grow and I could learn to trust in love again. And just like that, I'm not nervous anymore. I couldn't wait for eight o'clock to roll around!

I put the thought into the back of my mind as I finally make it to the house up the trail. Not surprised, I see my newest mustang loping around the pen. I stop to just watch the way her muscles contract with every stride, occasionally being covered by her long black mane and tail. For living up in the forests of the mountains and open lands, I was surprised her hair wasn't mangled. Before I started any training on her, I would have to trim her mane and tail so it wouldn't be a threat to her or me.

The mare stopped running as soon as she saw me walking towards the barn. She turned her ears towards me, watching my every move. But I kept on walking, going to go get her feed. As I entered the barn, I searched our bags of feed and decided what bag I needed. From the size and look of her, she is at least three years old.

I scooped her feed into a rubber feed pan and grabbed the medication Dr. Kindred gave us to help with her wounds and mixed it in with the feed. Who even knows if she will eat the feed, let alone eat it with the smell of the medication.

I walk out of the barn with the pan in my hands, gaining the attention of the other horses who line up at the other fence. As I get nearer and nearer to the pen, she takes a few paces and rears, facing me the whole entire time. As I reach the gate she whinnies and throws her head, looking behind her, what was she looking for? "Shh, it's alright honey." I say as I push the pan under the bar of the gate a few feet.

We both soften when I spoke; hearing my soft voice for the first time. Yesterday she heard the controlling and bossy side of me, but today she would see the much different side. I was only observing; respecting her boundaries. Today I would let her adjust to her new surroundings: loud machines, two legged animals, different horses, different sounds, new food, and seeing her kind being controlled by us.

The reason I softened when I spoke was because when I said 'honey' something clicked. When you really looked at her, she looked like the sweetest horse ever to be. But really, she is a survivor, a warrior. I liked the name Honey for her. I liked how it contradicted her.

Honey walked over to the pan and took one whiff of it and jumped back and to the side and added a little show-off crow hops to send me a message.  "Wild one ain't she." My grandpa's voice slightly startles  me, but I just stand up and cross my arms and watch the mare.

My grandpa stands next to me, wearing a loose navy blue tee shirt with his Wranglers. "She's just trying to intimidate me right now, but I have a good feeling about her."

Grandpa wraps his left arm around my shoulder and I see him look down at me, "I have a feeling you two are the same."

"How's that?" I ask him with a content smile as I lean against his shoulder.