Muddy

I stand in the middle of a muddy field. It rained yesterday and my boots are already covered ankle deep in wet dirt. I am trudging to my horse. I take a step. The mud swallows my foot and makes an angry sucking sound when I pull my leg up, taking my foot away from its slimy grip. Even though I am filthy, I don’t mind. I’ve always loved a mess. Besides, I get to put my arms around my beautiful beast after I’ve conquered the field.

There is nothing like the bond between me and my horse. His name is Gray, and he is utterly amazing. If you think I’m too muddy, you should see my horse. He likes to roll. His white coat is barely visible. Patches peek out from the caked on remains of a recent dirt bath. His beautiful silver mane has blotches of grime, sticking the hairs together. Clumps of brown grass and twigs are tangled in his tail, which swishes around swatting the flies off his sides and legs.

Have you ever been in the presence of a stubborn kid? Or, maybe you are the stubborn kid. Sometimes children will do something over and over again no matter what you say and it is totally worth it to them. Well my Gray likes to be dirty. Every single time I brush him and work super hard to get all the grossness off his lovely and majestic self, he goes and rolls in the dirtiest part of his field as soon as I let him go. I laugh at it now because he just can’t help it.

My big, stubborn horse is a sweetheart, but sometimes he just refuses to agree with my choices. Silly thing, doesn’t he know that a women is never wrong? (Well, almost never.) Thankfully, we both love the muck. It doesn’t bother us one bit, and, to me, it’s worth the dirt as long as I get to rub my boy down. Then he can go get filthy again.