This summer my children started a project. Several times a week they groom three horses at a friend’s barn. Old horses, retirees, with stiff joints and shaggy coats and worn teeth. We bite little pieces of apple for them to chew on, and scratch all those hard to reach places that plague them, and accept their horse hugs.
Three horses, until this weekend. Now there are only two.
Sweet dreams, Sir Galahad. You were loved and will be missed.