I am in the market for a new horse.
It’s not that I don’t like my current horse. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. I have only ever loved two animals — a coonhound named Ringo and my horse, Molly.
I have gone so far as to say that if I die, I want her listed as a survivor, assuming she isn’t what kills me. If she is the cause of my death, she is out of the obit.
And that’s the problem. If I were taking odds as to what would kill me, she would actually be pretty high on the list.
When we got Molly nearly a decade ago, she was a rescue. The family that had her didn’t abuse her, she was just neglected and malnourished.
When she arrived at our farm, we already had a cart pony named Molly. That elder horse became “Little Molly” as size was her most distinguishing feature.
My spirited horse became “Molly B,” – the “B” standing for a word we don’t use in our home. It isn’t difficult to recognize her nasty disposition as her most distinguishing characteristic.
But, time and attention brought her around. Molly and I got to know one another and grew together, to the point where I didn’t need to use reins to direct her. She could feel a slight shift of my weight or flexing of a muscle and would respond.
She is very athletic and has a good head on her. She does not spook. We often used her to move the cows from one field, or even one farm, to another.
My very favorite vacations were those when I would take her, another horse and a tent to camp and ride. I could switch horses during the day, but any serious riding would be done with Molly. We would go to Kentucky and ride in the predawn out to woods and wait for the elk herds to migrate around us.
But Molly is full of spit and vinegar. She literally chomps at the bit from the moment she takes it to the moment I take it back. When I ride her, her back side comes sideways and begins to bounce in anticipation of me loosening the reins. I have to keep my legs fully off her flanks and feet pushing into the stirrups lest she think I am releasing her.
Molly has not changed through the years, but I have.
When she first came to the farm, I had one son. My life was going smooth, but there was little excitement. I loved to go fast and the thrill of the ride was my enjoyment.
Now, however, I am older. My family has expanded greatly and brought a myriad of responsibilities I could not have fathomed a few years ago.
So now the rides that used to thrill and relax me, stress and tire me. Molly was the right horse for a time, a season in my life, but I am not in that season anymore.
I no longer need a runner, I want an ambler.
Sometimes, I just want to get on the horse and take a quiet tour of the township.
And so, I am looking for another horse.
If you have any suggestions, Molly and I will be in the back field. Good luck catching us.
-Mac Cordell is a reporter for the Journal-Tribune.