THE GREAT ESCAPE

Some of us as we get older slow down some.

For instance, I used to be able to run at a eight minute pace.... for about 20 feet. And now I can walk... for about 20 feet before I need to stop for breath.

Anyway, my mare, Sally, is a Thoroughbred, who are normally fairly fast - they've been breed for racing.

And did you know that Quarter Horses were originally bred for racing? Just shorter sprints - a quarter mile - which is where the name came from.

And I think that Sally did race at one time; her upper inside lip is tattooed. No, not with a rose or "Semper Fit", silly, but with registration numbers, which normally are only for racers.

So although she is somewhere in her late twenties, Sally can still run faster than my eight-year-old gelding... at least when she really really wants something.

But most of the time, she is the stately grande dame gazing at the horizon.

Unwittingly, today I pushed her right over the edge.

It's been the first day warm enough for me to wear shorts, and I felt sorry for my hot, sweating horses. It's still cold enough at night (low 40's) that they both still have fairly think coats, so I got the water hose out to soak them.

Sally loves getting hosed down - I think it brings back memories of the track, because she gets very flighty, prancing around and acting like a young filly.

Najale, my horse, absolutely detests water cascading over his back... or his sides... or his anything. But he will put up with it, under loud protest, because if Sally enjoys it, he is going to enjoy it, damn it.

But then, three hours later, when I went back into the pasture, Sally, still under the influence of cold water, simply bolted out from the gate and went on a merry tirade of gallovating around the house.

Normally I can catch Sally fairly easily, even when she gets out of her own, but today? No way. Until the creaks and groans of her older bones slowed her down and forced her to meekly make her way back home.

Whew. More exercise than I planned on for myself.