My interesting blog 1732

The gelding before me, a dewy-eyed sorrel with a crescent of white on his forehead, is taking a breath like a bellows. Beside him, a teen called Eli is striving to be still. It is not working out. His feet touch a quick rhythm, his hands turn completion of a lead rope, his eyes skitter across the field. I ask Eli what his breath is doing. He shrugs. The horse grunts and swings an ear towards him. We count together, four in, 4 out, and I show him just how to widen his stance