How I began with my first horse "Buddy!"

   As a young child growing up in Maine, horses were all I ever thought about. I had breyer horses of every breed and made stables for then out cardboard. I would 'canter' through the woods dreaming of riding on trails I spent so much time on. I would race down the street on my bike pretending it was a horse, using a jump rope as reins. My Grandmother shared my passion my horses. Well I should say she 'brain washed' me from a early age. My Grandmother was a amazing women and devoted animal lover. The time I spent at her house are some of my  clearest memories from my childhood. It was a time of horses and malamutes, singing lovebirds and iced tea on the deck and warm muffins in the mornings. Which brings me to my first horse, and he was not what most people would expect.
   Before I had to the chance to own a horse, we lost my Grandmother. It was a hard time for my family. She went to Washington State to see my Uncle Mark, and returned a different person. A few months later she was diagnosed with Alzheimers. It was a accelerated case, within  a year, we lost her. I still find it hard to talk about that year, it was a year of heartbreak, it was hell.
   This was the point in my life when my mother and father let me fully emerge myself in the world of horses. I took a lesson at a school horse barn. That was a few hours away, for a short time. It that had no real impact of my equestrian life. Except what to avoid in a riding instructor.
    I joined the loacl 4-H club closer at home. At this point my mother and I went to a local horse rescue, on the slim chance that we may find a horse that way. The barn at the rescue was dark and had that lingering smell of un-healthy animals. It was depressing and heartbreaking. Standing in one stall was a 17.1h Belgian cross gelding, he was about 100lb under weight. His feet looked horrible and his coat was dull and had a greasy feel to it. He had big liquid eyes and a sad hanging lip. He was dull, as if he had removed himself from his human care takers. We could not say no, so we took him home, and called him Buddy. He gained weight, his coat improved as did his feet. We came to find out that he was much older then we thought, closer to 22, not the 15 we had been told. I spent many hours trail riding Buddy. I got lost so many times, and it was always Buddy that found the way home. I would drop the reins and  he would head back to barn, no matter how far away from home we where. He was huge,and way to big for me. But he was a gift,and  the safest horse you could ask for. He would not canter on the trail unless he felt the footing was good. He never spooked or refused to cross a stream or jump a little log. He was truely my best friend.
Sincerly,
Petra