Aren't I fabulous?

In 2013, the young girl working for us told us about a Quarterhorse gelding which belonged to a friend of hers who had decided boy humans were more interesting than boy horses. She and I went to take a look at him, with Craig having charged me to make the decision. The horse was big, solid, grey, young, overtly personable, so my decision was easy. We brought him home to Hideout Ranch and quickly changed his name from "Skipper" to "Orrin". (More on names later...)

Well, Orrin was a little more "Orrin" than we anticipated out of the startbox. His first outing with Craig went swimmingly until - in a flagrant breach of trail etiquette - the other horses and riders went around the bend and out of sight before everyone was mounted. Orrin went a little spastic when he thought they'd left him. Wide-eyed (for Craig), he said to me later, "I don't know if he's going to work out. We can't have him acting like that!" Then, "You take him and work with him."

Um, okay.

I took Orrin out as often as possible for the next few months. He was quirky, to be sure. Not a horse you could "fall asleep" on, but a horse that made you ride. Really ride. You had to pay attention. Stay centered. Sit back. Keep a solid leg without nagging him. Heels resolutely down. Hands had to be quiet, consistent, steady. You had to mentally be three steps ahead of him on the trail, prepared in case a yucca hurled an insult as he passed or a chipmunk blew raspberries at him as it ran across the trail.

I loved it. He made me ride and I loved it.

After I'd "legged him up", Craig took him back with a "Thanks, dear", and off they merrily went.

Quite some time after Craig's passing, a group of us went over to White Tail to help our farrier work cattle, and I took Orrin. "Cowing" at White Tail was always big fun, and this day was no exception. This may well have been the day Orrin executed a stupefying move he had never executed before. We sat in a knot, waiting for Guy to give us our next directions. Suddenly, Orrin's front end picked up - head down and feet off the ground. Then his back cracked, followed by his back end and feet thrusting out behind my head. All in slow motion. Honestly. Slow motion.

"Orrin, what are you doing?" I laughed, wholly amused and still in the saddle.

"I did the wave, Mommy!" he replied, quite pleased with himself.

"In slow motion?"

"Yes! Aren't I fabulous?"

I remember shaking my head and chuckling because indeed, he had done the wave. In slow motion.

Later (perhaps even on a different day but still at White Tail), on the other side of the dirt road after scouring a couple pastures for recalcitrant cattle, Guy waited to close the cowboy gate as we all passed through. Shortly beyond the gate was a deep wallow. I eased Orrin down the slope at a walk, and he picked up a canter as he crossed the narrow bottom and flowed like heavy cream up the other side. We kept the canter, rolling along under the blazing Arizona sun hanging proudly in a perfectly azure sky. We cut through the warm spring air like room-softened butter, Orrin's feet pounding out the waltz-like rhythm of a joyful canter.

It dawned on me I was joyful, lighthearted, and at peace. Orrin and I were perfectly in sync as we rolled across the grassland, and I remembered why. Why I rode horses. Why I had come out west with my beloved late husband to build his dream of an equine-centric guest ranch. Why I was still on earth when Craig was with Sammy and Warner, Wyatt and Logan.

Orrin and I were the same being for that canter stretch. He might have prompted me to ask the customary question, "Orrin, what the hell are you doing?" at his slow-motion wave earlier. But for those blissful moments cantering through life, I knew, I felt "why"...