I climbed the fence (ungracefully, I might add—caught my jacket on a nail) and just sat on the top rail. Storm walked over. Not for a treat. Not for a scratch. He just… stood there. His flank was warm against my knee. For ten minutes, neither of us moved.
It was Storm , the 22-year-old ex-show jumper that everyone says is “retired to pasture.” Everyone says he’s grumpy. Everyone says don’t bother. emily's diary horse 22
Today was entry number 22. I didn’t know that when I woke up. I just knew the air smelled like frost and hay, and the barn was calling my name. I climbed the fence (ungracefully, I might add—caught
He sighed. A long, heavy breath that smelled of clover and age. I climbed the fence (ungracefully