Star

Star and me. I’m pouting because my mom made me wear a cowgirl hat. I never wore them and still don’t!

When Star was just a few months old I stood out in a field for hours, holding out my hand with pieces of apple and carrot calling her to come to me. She would come close, sniff my hand and then run away, kicking up her back legs. And then, after hours of waiting, Star came to me, nibbling the apples and carrots from my hand. I put my arms around her neck, and she stayed with me. I walked a few steps and she followed. I ran across the pasture, and she ran with me. I jumped up and down and she kicked up her back legs. From that moment until the day she died, we were best friends.

The next spring, when Star was one year old, she began to shed the dirty white coat she was born with. As I brushed her, a shining, golden coat emerged, the color of a bright gold coin. She was a true Palomino and had all the correct markings that go with those beautiful horses: white stocking feet, white mane and tail and a white star on her forehead. I always thought Star was beautiful and now everyone else did too.