Writing Assignment -- Detailed Story

9/30/2012

Where Dreams Come True

            Sliding the gearshift into the PARK position, I twist off the ignition and take a deep breath. I have come home. Even before I unlatch the car door I am greeted with a nostril-full of smells. The moist earth and scent of alfalfa mix with the fresh morning chillness to bring a smile to my already pleasant expression. This is my ranch. As I release my door and swing it open, I am further welcomed by the repeated neigh of my favorite Arabian mare. Though she is barely visible passed the other various colored equines and aluminum stalls, my scent has heralded my arrival since my vehicle entered through the strong steel gate back at the entrance. The large custom designed and built gate is held up by stone pillars and a shorter stone wall continues out of sight behind the thick green hedge surround the entirety of the multi-acre property.

            The call of a far-off hawk awakens and the chill January air further notifies me to keep moving or freeze into an ice cube. Turning to gather my warm brown Carhart jacket from the rear seat, I smile at the reflection of the sunrise in the tinted window of my dark blue Saturn station wagon. A click of the shutter on my small silver digital camera captures the moment for future reference. Thrusting my already chilled arms into the thick sleeves of my jacket does quick work to clam the goose bumps that threaten to appear.

            The ‘drum-drum’ of my footsteps, the jingle of keys attached to my belt loop, and the grating sound of my jacket zipper are all welcome sounds on so chill a morning. It’s just me and the peacefulness of God’s creation. I take a few more deep breaths as my drumming footsteps bring me closer to my destination. Turning left passed the tack barn brings the day’s duties into sight.

            The equine animal on my right is like an ice cream sundae, colored in a delicious black and white coat. The swish of his solid black tail sends an invisible pest into the nippy air. The handsome, but old brown man to my left nods his head as I pause to watch him. His more experienced tail not so much as twitching as a fly lands on his rump. Next in line is a graying appaloosa with a thick head and rugged coat. A pro on the barrel race, he has been known to give his rider a good run. “Just hang on, it will be over soon!” The distant call of the hawk has been replaced with a mixture of other bird noises, from the chatter of numerous crows to the soft coo of an unseen dove. Then also is the continued swish of the inexperienced tail and now the added ‘cling-clang’ of metal against metal.

            The speckled horse at the far end of the row is making sure I don’t forget his morning exercise regimen. The ‘cling-clang’ is his lips moving the gate latch and as the sound echoes around me it seemingly bounces back from the distant mountain ranges. He is telling me he would rather go for a ride than munch his breakfast as some other horses are already doing.

            The ‘drum-drum’ of my black cowboy boots continues as I move down the line toward him. On a morning like today my western shadow, topped with a black cowboy hat has slept in to wait for the sun. It would join me soon. I greet my speckled friend and he nuzzles me as I reach to touch his soft nose. Though my suede gloves mask some of his coat’s softness I detect no ridges or bumps. He has completely healed from his past injury. I feel his warm breath on my face as he raises his head to take in my scent more fully. Does he taste the crisp waffle smothered in homemade maple syrup I ate before arriving? Probably only the freshness of the toothpaste still lingering on my taste buds.

            The ‘drum-drum’ carried me back toward ice cream sundae and old brown man. I stop at the third stall, unlatch the gate and push the creaky stall gate open. My soon to be sorting champion Arabian mare takes two steps back to allow the gate to pass. She comes forward to meet me as I step inside. The sound of ripping Velcro is suddenly mixed with the other morning sounds. As I step out, her halter now in place and buckled, her hooves join my boots in drumming as we head to tack up.

            The swish of the brush and the spray of the fly repellant are soon replaced with the ‘cling-clang’ of metal against metal. This time it is not my speckled friend, but the cinch buckles as I lift the saddle into place on my horse’s back.

            My accelerated breathing from lifting the fifteen plus pound western saddle has now slowed as I tighten the cinch and secure the breast collar. More Velcro sound echoes as I wrap the cannon bones with splint boots to protect the horse’s legs. The saddle squeaks a time or two and I’m in the saddle ready to go. This is where my dreams come true!