If I put up a couple of things for sale, would you all buy anything? It would be a like a couple of halters, lead rope, and probably 2 helmets? 

Me: Hey I just Met you 
Me: And this is crazy 
Me: but heres my saddle 
Me: So don’t kill me, Maybe?

Somewhere behind the rider you’ve become, 
the hours of practice you’ve put in,
the coaches that have pushed you,
the hard falls you’ve taken,
the money you’ve spent,
the long distances you’ve hauled,
the “normal” things you’ve given up,
the strides, the sweat, the tears, the blood,
the blisters, the ripped jeans,
the suede chaps on 100 degree summer days,
the lame horse, the crazy horse,
the “are you serious?” horse and everything in between.
Somewhere behind all of this is the little girl who fell in love with the sport,
the horse, the idea, and never looked back.  

Me: I swear this horse rolls in mud on purpose just to piss me off. 
Me: How does one creature acquire so much dust? 
Me: This brush sucks. 
Me: I don’t even know why I have it. 
Me: I don’t even know where it came from. 
Me: Or why I continue to use it. 
Me: I’m brushing this horse and the dust just goes right back on. 
Me: [continues brushing watching dust] 
Me: What the fuck did you roll in? 
Me: Oh shut up the spray bottle does not hurt you. 
Me: You’re fine, god. 
Me: Bitch don’t you dare bite me. 
Me: Hoof picks with brushes are so much better. 
Me: I don’t even know why they make the other ones. 
Me: Is that thrush? Shit. 
Me: Nevermind no it’s not. 
Me: … 
Me: You would have to shit right now. 
Me: Thanks a lot, really. 
Me: Okay this is not a show, good enough.