Becoming Brave
No. 5
To Find a Name
One week later and I was slipping the bright green halter over his head, slipping him a carrot, and slipping out of the muddy paddock where it'd been raining. A little unsure of myself I loaded him into the trailer and his teary former-owner handed me an envelope. "This is everything you'll ever need to know about him." (I only remember this because I just found it recently! It was full of his likes and dislikes, quirks and habits. She was wrong about one thing, though: he loves peppermint.).
Back at home our barn was being built but was not finished. In the meantime we were boarding him up in the hills where I'd been lessoning most recently. The road there was full of twists and turns and the adults were tossing around name ideas: Silver, Chance, anything but Bart. "Bo." I said decisively.
"Bo," my Aunt repeats, letting it roll of her tongue and finally shrugging and approving, "Bo."
I was very stubborn with the spelling. Don't ask why, I don't have any real answer, it just had to be my own idea I guess. Here's to being twelve.
When we made it to his new home I braided his forelock and kissed his nose. The smell of sweet hay and shavings permeated all around us, owners bustled around with their horses. We were part of a community. I reached up to scratch his ear, testing out his name, "Hey there, Bo."
Love, Sarah
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