 |
 |
|
Smokey A half-Arab colt was for sale and I was looking to buy one. Though just a girl myself, I said "Yes," and the deal was quickly done. His wooly winter coat, midnight black with four socks of moonlight white, A small star, a tiny snip, with liquid eyes so shiny and bright. He arrived home full of fire, staccato snorts, and frisky dances, Strutting his stuff before a myriad of admiring glances. Flagging his tail up over his back, pawing the snow covered ground; Arrogrant and proud, surely the hottest little horse for miles around. Knowing litle more than he, I started training, midst hopes and fears. But he was willing, level-headed and mature beyond his years. No bucking or coltish tantrums, he never resorted to it. Each new lesson shown only once or twice and he knew it. With his new education, Smokey and I hit the horse show trail, He always gave me everything I asked and more, without fail. A coveted place on a rodeo court, he brought home for me, And a wall full of trophies and ribbons for all my friends to see. Reining competition was his best event, he always placed high, And his much sought, yearly high point trophy brought a tear to my eye. Western pleasure judges liked his looks, his manners would sway the vote. Though we never won that top award, second place they often wrote. But the Arab costume class was, to me, especially endeared, With flowing velvet robe, satin and sequins, and tassels and beard. Smokey floated gayly over the sod, his hooves barely touching the ground, Confident his number would be called when the class winner was crowned. As adept on the trail as working a reining pattern in the ring, And he could turn back an errant bull as quickly as anything. Up steep cliffs or crossing boulder-strewn streams, he did equally as well. Athletic and sure-footed, he never stumbled. He never fell. In the summer's heat, we played in the pond and the old swimming hole. He listened to my girlish hopes and dreams and never told a soul. If I paused to pick wild flowers and dropped the bridle from his face, He never left my side, gently following me from place to place. A loyal and devoted companion on many rocky trails, A heart as soft as butterfly wings, a fortitude as tough as nails. But when cancer cruelly overwhelmed him, I gently set him free. With his soft muzzle pressed against my neck, he said goodbye to me. A lifetime much too short, just nine years from birth to his final call. He always did his best, and against the odds, triumphed through it all. Though it was years ago I lost him, I long to hug and pet him. He will always be in my heart and I never will forget him. So, Lord, it it would be all right with You, please feed him a scoop of grain, Turn him loose to pasture, let him run 'cross a lush green, grassy plain. And when my time comes to join You there, I have one heartfelt request. A few more ride with that wonderful little horse I loved the best. -Bev Gray McAllister |
|
| In Memory of Desert Smoke 1959 - 1968 |
 |
|
|
|
 |