We All Have That One. The First

We all have that first horse that we either cherish, or we look back and find it an experience to live and grow from. Mine was of course, Lilly. I cherished her (and though she wasn't technically mine), god, I cherished her. Now more then ever I am aware that her time here on earth is closing, and many a time I have wondered what it would have been like if I had met her when she was younger. I used to dream of my mom and dad bringing her home in a trailer, and leading her out, and tears of happiness would well up in my eyes just from the fantasy. And, more often, the dream of riding her bareback and bridle-less without fear of her being hard to stop. My heaven rested in that horse's eyes. I remember so well, the joy that we had. From the first time I met her. I adored her. I was afraid of her bolting and other vices, and didn't understand why it took so long to catch her, or why she wouldn't stop when I rode her, or why she was so hard to tack up. I still remember the days when she would dance around when I tried to put the saddle on her, and held her head well out of my reach and backed up when I tried to bridle her. At that time, I was too small to force her head down, and when Mike did, I just accepted it as the way of doing things. I remember the hours upon hours I spent grooming her beautiful coat. Whether it be her short, multi-colored mane, her greyed by age face, the red spot I absolutely adore on her hind leg that comes out brightly in the spring and summer, I just loved it. I just loved her. Period. And I still do. I always will. Every moment we spent riding together was breath-taking. Almost. Except when I was still ignorant, and her fear got the best of her, or that one time I pushed her too hard after I wasn't ignorant, and she showed me she wouldn't tolerate that anymore by refusing to leave the pasture. Sarah wanted me to force her to go, insisting that me getting off her was letting her get away with something. At that point, I was in tears. But, she taught me something not only then. But many a time. She taught me patience. She taught me how to be calm. She showed me how to put others before my own pride. She helped me find myself. Oh, I love her. And the fact that she's moving on? Well, to be honest, it breaks my heart. Even though our time together is over, it still hurts. I want to be there when it happens, but to be honest (again), I don't think I will. Her smell calmed me the nights when I ran to the barn because of family problems. She helped me feel happy and calm and free when my world was coming to an end (when trevan died, when my mom was diagnosed with emphysema). Her canter...I loved it. Sarah hated that bouncy stride of hers, and for the longest time, I bounced as well, and then had to move awkwardly to avoid it, and then finally, in the last year or so, we moved together as one. Her gallop was absolutely spectacular. That speed, the wind in my face and hair, blurring my vision, gliding across the ground so quickly-we FLEW. I remember the times she raised her head when I called, and she started by walking to me, and then it progressed to trotting minimum, and every so often, she would flat out RUN. To see her head pop up, ears perked, letting out a loud nicker, and to see her break into a run with her mane and tail flying in the wind, her eyes fixated at me, constantly nickering until she came to a stop in front of me. I would stroke her, grinning and laughing, and we would walk to the barn together for our daily play session. She gave and gave and gave. I remember the time she let me come up to her while she was lying down-which was huge for her. That moment was worth more than a million pounds of gold to me. When she listened to my signal to stop from over 50 feet away when we were experimenting with liberty. When finally, she started seeing me as her safe place. Instead of freaking out when other horses left her, she started stressing out when I left her, if even for a moment. She was willing to go farther away from the herd with me than anyone else. Nancy, who had owned her for 10+ years, could see it. She was amazed at how confident Lilly was with me, as was I. Even she commented when I visited Lilly and Dreamer during the winter 'She's definitely saying Jessy'. It didn't matter that Nancy owned her at that point-Lilly was the center of my world and I hers. We belonged with each other. I grew insanely jealous whenever anyone else rode her-because she was MY horse. It was my place, to sit on her back. At least, it felt like it. And I'm sure she preferred me riding her. Oh, I love that horse. I've decided to put a tattoo on my back of her within the form of a wing. To start a tradition, I spose. A memorial of her, so I never forget our time, and cherish it. Why within the shape of wing? Because she gave me the freedom to figure out who I was, the freedom to love, and she made my dream a reality. To have a horse that would absolutely adore me, and I her, forever. I will always miss our times together. Thus, a wing. Because she gave me the wings I lacked.