I couldn't do that...

When we go back to California, it has been suggested that we go back out to the ranch, see how things look, see our old bosses, and I could see Shadow.

I've thought about that some.

I do not want to go see Shadow.

Twelve years spent with a horse and sharing trails together seems like it should constitute a reunion when it is convenient.

I tell people, "No, I won't go back, even if I'm ten miles close to it. Anyway, Shadow won't remember me, he won't care."

But you know, the truth is, I believe he would remember me.

I believe that he'd be out in his pasture and I'd whistle and he'd come running up to the top of the hill, and then plunge down the hill and run into the stall to see me.

I believe he'd let me rub his forehead and I know he'd remember me. After all, twelve years is a long time.

But would that be right? To me, it feels like a wayward mother who has abandoned her child, showing up for a few minutes after a couple of years, "Hi, how are ya? See ya later!" and then disappearing again.

And I couldn't do that. To him, or to me.

Here's a photo of me and Shadow, in better, younger times. I've shared them here before...