People tend to be of two types: horse lovers or horse 'I don't cares'. I'm of the former variety. I was talking to some folks the other day about their horses, who are also in the former variety. It made me miss my horse, Sam. Yeah, Sam is a weird name but think of Samson, and you get a better idea.
Sam was a Polish Arab. That's a big Arabian, about 5-1/2 feet tall at the withers. This picture shows how fine his head was. Not too much dish, a strong neck, alert and interested in everything going on around him. This was a fine horse, a horse of estimable quality, a champion.
I didn't show Sam because I didn't have the skills, but he showed me his high stepping ways even as I sat on him, unworthy of being on the back of this gorgeous animal. He loved to run. Imagine strapping yourself atop a runaway locomotive. That was Sam at on the run. Try to pull him up after a couple of miles because you are worn out. He'd fight you. He wanted to run some more.
He believed he was a beauty, so he stepped out, neck arched, tail up. A big show-off, he was.
Unfortunately, my back gave me troubles and I couldn't get up on him anymore, not with a saddle anyway. Put a two-year-old kid on his bare back and he was Ol' Faithful, plodding around like a good old boy. Saddle him up and hang on for the ride of your life.
I miss Sam and I hope he's still giving somebody a thrill to be on the back of a champion. He'd be around 25 now, but I suspect he hasn't really slowed down. At least, that's what I hope. I don't want to know otherwise.
Sam was one of a kind and I am privileged that he let me up on his back and take me for the ride of my life.