So now I must formulate plans including 'things that make Solo happy' and I must make sure those things do not include any 'things that make Solo more sore.' It's a fine line. That seems to perk him up a little bit, so I feel slightly better. He is ok as long as we keep a soft, long contact. Stretchy trot work in the arena garners only resigned acceptance from Solo, so I give him some canter figure eights with flying changes in the corners and a hand gallop down the long side.

Each jump merits the same pleading from him and the same sad rebuttal from me. How about this one?! Again, I have to deny his request. With a sigh, he continues on past the second jump. By the first jump, Solo leans hard towards it, begging pleasepleaseplease can I jump it?! My heart hurts as I have to say, sorry, buddy, not today. We trot up the hill to the arena, passing through our jump field.

What he minds is the part where he lost his job. Well, I don't think he minds the grazing part terribly, but that's not a new thing. Otherwise, he is stuffed with treats and rubbed with his favourite brushes. A couple times a week, he is subjected to short, light ride to stretch and move his muscles. You would think he'd appreciate hitting the horse jackpot his life consists of grazing in his favourite pasture with his buddy, Danny, like they are Siamese twins. I think Solo's feeling a little bummed out. It was a dose of much needed medicine for us both and I, too, feel like I can breathe again. It filled me with joy to show him he was still The Man, he could still explore the world in a swinging trot among the tulip poplars and the bottomland sycamores we both live to experience. He is not lost or gone, he is just a bit sad because he thought the fun had ended. But my buddy, my partner, is still in there. I let him strike into canter in the next field over and he rolled proudly along the treeline with the easy stride I know and love so well.ДЇixed? No. It was like watching a cardiac patient gasp their first lungful of air after resuscitation. It only took two steps of trot to breathe the life back into him. Determined to prove to him that his life wasn't over, we struck out on the trails on this heart-stoppingly gorgeous evening in early fall. It made me feel ill and I couldn't summon the energy to let it go. When I last rode Solo on Friday, he felt flat, tired, depressed. A familiar, muscular neck defines my view of the edge of this cutover field. The light brushes seedheads and the leaves of volunteer corn stalks with an auburn glow. The setting sun makes a bright corona around orange ears as we ride directly into its fierce shine.

Magicalpad dead