Ole Blue Eyes

The family of horses is growing on our little mountain. We still have only one – the Chocolate Rocky Mountain named Choco Rainey – but he is in the pasture next to our property.

When we first added him to the pasture, it was due to his being a lone horse and the neighbor’s also being alone in the field. Together they made a nice pair of geldings who seemed over the moon to have another creature of the same species to spend time with.

Happy with the difference in his horse, our neighbor added a blue eyed paint. He’s a gentle gelding with Paul Newman eyes.

But there is something about him that seems other-worldly. It’s as if he is a ghost in the body of a horse. This is the first blue eyed horse I have ever spent time around. I’m more used to the big brown expressive eyes that reflect the image of my face as I peer into them. This horse is friendly but he doesn’t let me in past the surface of his icy cold eyes. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Or maybe it’s as though he is gifted to peer into my heart – a messenger and seer.

Aren’t all horses like this though? I wonder sometimes how man ever managed to convince a horse that he was in charge. Why aren’t they still wild creatures like antelope and bears?

How do they carry a couple of thousand pounds on such tiny graceful legs?

How do they know how to eat from our hands without ever feeling the scrape of a tooth against our palms?

How does Choco know that I like to be kissed on my face?

Ole Blue Eyes knows. He’s calm and serene because he has the answers. Perhaps he’s sizing me up, determining what I’m made of; if I can be trusted.

Right now I’m sharing carrots, apple chunks, and oatmeal snacks with him. Perhaps he’ll tell the others that the blue eyed lady is alright!

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  1. His eyes are beautiful and yes .. other-worldly.

    Nothing like the soft, gentle nuzzle of a horse’s mouth nibbling grain from your hand – Bliss!


  2. There IS something infathomable in those blue eyes. He’s assessing you.

    I wanted nothing more than a horse throughout my childhood, but such a thing was way beyond the means of a 40s/50s suburb existence, so I only got to ride stables horses and the eventual acquisition of a horse or horsey neighbors of one of my best friends. Horses weren’t on my first husband’s radar. My second husband had been something of a cowboy by necessity in his teens and was pretty much “over it” with horses. I had my last ride at least 10 years ago when I went out with my grandchildren. It went better than I expected (managed to get on, didn’t bounce much when trotting, didn’t fall off, didn’t even have aches and pains after two hour ride).

    My mom carried MY childhood dream until she died at 95.

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