Here’s your first clue:
My obsession has existed for many years, and has taken on many forms. I truly realized the one when I was twelve years old. When I found her, someone else had broken her body and spirit. I saw in her eyes so much pain, fear and distrust that it broke my heart. I was determined to help her believe in people again. I knew I had a chance, because she was very young at the time. Any idea what my obsession is?
Ok, then. Here’s another clue:
She is by no means perfect, but I could always see something in her that sometimes made others call me crazy. It took months for her to give me a chance, but after that it didn’t take long for us to become friends. Slowly, I watched her Expression change from childlike and abused to bright and alert. Her eyes softened, too; and the fears that had once raced through them began to dissipate. I watched her grow up, going through periodic stages of grace, but more often than not in those first years, she looked gangly and awkward. I still thought she was beautiful, and I made sure to tell her every chance I got.
We played every day, and we learned a lot of new things together. Sometimes, if one of us got left behind, we’d have to repeat some lessons. She never lost her patience with me, or I with her, and always our confidence in each other continued to grow. She soon became my best friend and my confidante, and I made her a Promise, that we would be friends forever.
Years passed, and we grew closer, as friends often do. We knew each other so well, that we rarely needed to use words anymore. Her ego has grown with her confidence over the years. It doesn’t often get in the way of our friendship, but we’ve had a few arguments; I’ve received a few bruises both emotional and physical – but in the end, we always manage to reconcile our differences.
When the news came that I was moving to Florida, it looked as if we might be separated, after seven years together. With great determination, I kept my Promise to her, and we made the 1300-mile journey south together. Do you know what my obsession is yet?
Let me give you some more clues.
We played every day, and we learned a lot of new things together. Sometimes, if one of us got left behind, we’d have to repeat some lessons. She never lost her patience with me, or I with her, and always our confidence in each other continued to grow. She soon became my best friend and my confidante, and I made her a Promise, that we would be friends forever.
Years passed, and we grew closer, as friends often do. We knew each other so well, that we rarely needed to use words anymore. Her ego has grown with her confidence over the years. It doesn’t often get in the way of our friendship, but we’ve had a few arguments; I’ve received a few bruises both emotional and physical – but in the end, we always manage to reconcile our differences.
When the news came that I was moving to Florida, it looked as if we might be separated, after seven years together. With great determination, I kept my Promise to her, and we made the 1300-mile journey south together. Do you know what my obsession is yet?
Let me give you some more clues.
Florida was a huge change for both of us. I found her a home near mine, and got a job to help her pay her rent and buy food. I helped her transform her look, I gave her a bath, combed her hair, and with a new pair of shoes already on her feet, we were ready to paint the town purple – her favorite color.
Even though she pranced around and showed off in front of new people, she quickly began to make friends – as did I. Although many of her friends were skinnier and in better shape than her, she never let it get her down. She’s never cared what anyone else thought, and I still tell her that she’s beautiful. Still no ideas, right?
These are your last clues, so use your imagination. She sleeps, often standing up. She breathes, always through her nose, which ends in a velvety soft muzzle with whiskers that she uses to feel around in the dark or to tickle the palm of my hand when she takes a mint. Soon those whiskers might begin to turn grey, creating a visual match to the arthritis that has started to creep into some of her joints. She is, by most standards, about middle-aged at 11 years.
Her eyes, now bright, kind and trusting, are nearly black in color. They are set widely apart, giving her a look of great intelligence and beauty that is hard to describe to someone who has never seen her. Her lashes are long, but thin and delicate. Her coat, like her eyes is bright, with a sleek sheen to it, even in the wintertime. After a fresh bath, it feels like silk beneath my fingers. It is dark brown in color, although she has some fawn coloring around her eyes, which contrast with their darkness and depth. Recently, she has developed dapples on her coat that create an interesting pattern of light and dark around her ribs. Her muzzle and legs are black, too, and when I was younger, I thought it looked like she was wearing stockings or had accidentally stepped in some paint. Her legs are scarred with marks and white hairs from various injuries over the years, each one with a story as unique as hers. A few similar stains have appeared on her body as well. These marks add to her beauty and character. Her hair, too, is black, but every now and then, a grey hair will sneak itself in. I usually pull those out, if only in a vain attempt to maintain a uniformity of color. And then I wonder if there will come a day when I won’t be able to keep up with the encroachment of age.
However, I think it is her personality, which keeps me in awe of her. I often find myself thinking back to when she was a two-year-old, afraid of all people. I remember that distrusting creature that emerged as the outgoing social butterfly I know now. I know that at least on some level, she is capable of both feeling and thinking. How deep exactly her ability to feel goes is hard to determine – but it is definitely there. With it, comes an amazing ability to forgive, which we could all learn from. Some call this unconditional love, but I know that that isn’t quite enough to explain it.
If you’re still not sure what my obsession is, here is your answer: She is my inspiration and my sanity. In her I have found an oasis where I can escape from the rest of the world. She is my horse, and her name is Promise.
Even though she pranced around and showed off in front of new people, she quickly began to make friends – as did I. Although many of her friends were skinnier and in better shape than her, she never let it get her down. She’s never cared what anyone else thought, and I still tell her that she’s beautiful. Still no ideas, right?
These are your last clues, so use your imagination. She sleeps, often standing up. She breathes, always through her nose, which ends in a velvety soft muzzle with whiskers that she uses to feel around in the dark or to tickle the palm of my hand when she takes a mint. Soon those whiskers might begin to turn grey, creating a visual match to the arthritis that has started to creep into some of her joints. She is, by most standards, about middle-aged at 11 years.
Her eyes, now bright, kind and trusting, are nearly black in color. They are set widely apart, giving her a look of great intelligence and beauty that is hard to describe to someone who has never seen her. Her lashes are long, but thin and delicate. Her coat, like her eyes is bright, with a sleek sheen to it, even in the wintertime. After a fresh bath, it feels like silk beneath my fingers. It is dark brown in color, although she has some fawn coloring around her eyes, which contrast with their darkness and depth. Recently, she has developed dapples on her coat that create an interesting pattern of light and dark around her ribs. Her muzzle and legs are black, too, and when I was younger, I thought it looked like she was wearing stockings or had accidentally stepped in some paint. Her legs are scarred with marks and white hairs from various injuries over the years, each one with a story as unique as hers. A few similar stains have appeared on her body as well. These marks add to her beauty and character. Her hair, too, is black, but every now and then, a grey hair will sneak itself in. I usually pull those out, if only in a vain attempt to maintain a uniformity of color. And then I wonder if there will come a day when I won’t be able to keep up with the encroachment of age.
However, I think it is her personality, which keeps me in awe of her. I often find myself thinking back to when she was a two-year-old, afraid of all people. I remember that distrusting creature that emerged as the outgoing social butterfly I know now. I know that at least on some level, she is capable of both feeling and thinking. How deep exactly her ability to feel goes is hard to determine – but it is definitely there. With it, comes an amazing ability to forgive, which we could all learn from. Some call this unconditional love, but I know that that isn’t quite enough to explain it.
If you’re still not sure what my obsession is, here is your answer: She is my inspiration and my sanity. In her I have found an oasis where I can escape from the rest of the world. She is my horse, and her name is Promise.
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