Some Meaning To It
When I logged onto my blog earlier this morning I searched through my oldest blog posts and pages’ revision records, hoping to discover some trace of my old horse posts. I remember when I started the Archies back in the spring of 2008, a few days before I broke my leg riding Adam through a door. In one follow-up post to the incident I remember typing out everything I ever felt about him, including the infamous disappointment of having the horse I love (and whose vet bill cost a lot of money the previous summer) repay me by bolting off and breaking my leg. Although in those days I didn’t quite bother to write as thoroughly and organized as I do now, I still wish I had a trace of those posts left. I deleted them when I started cleaning up this blog and categorizing my posts, thinking that they ‘didn’t fit’ and had no real relation to my other blog content. Well, was I ever wrong!
A few posts complaining about Adam’s unruliness may not seem too significant to everyone else in the equestrian community but they meant everything to me. I could have restored them had they been kept privately instead of permanent deletion. I could have used them as a tangible marker, a ‘before’ snapshot to compare to Adam the reliable best friend today. I plan on typing out a full story of both of my horses but I only wish I had the original primary source to enahance it with. Oh, well. There is no use ranting about what cannot be changed, I suppose. Instead I will have to merely retell my J.B. Stables stories, starting from the day of my grandfather’s death in seventh grade to the past county fair. Perhaps explaining this way could be better after all, now that more of my horseloving friends are aware of this blog and now have the chance to learn anything about my background they possibly missed.
There is meaning to my horse stories. I recall what I said on the way to the hospital that March evening -I wanted Adam dead ASAP. (Obviously, I did not carry through with this idea.) Now I realize that if Adam did die, I would never be the person I am today. It was because of him, one of my first horses, that I learned through the mistakes I made. Over the years I developed a bulletproof of determination (some call it stubborn, I say there is a difference).
Hobos cannot live in cardboard boxes for their entire lives. Sooner or later they have to crawl out and walk around to find a more sustainable shelter. Under a bridge, a tunnel, or endlessly strolling through a 24-hour WalMart -anything built enough to suffice. If they choose to rely upon a cardboard dwelling they will find themselves in a soggy, wet mess. I will not be that hobo.
Thanks to Adam, I never will be.
The stories in this post will continue throughout the blog posts and pages. Part of the above post can be found on my ‘J.B. Stables’ page under the heading of my stable story.