The wound still runs deep...

My husband makes beautiful custom spurs. I handle the "people" part of the business, talking with customers and figuring out what they want. I love doing it, but it also is quite tiring on me. But that's okay. It's a very small business so I don't have to do much of it.

Above is a photo of a pair of spurs that my husband made (not necessarily for me) while I was in the hospital in Nov. 2007. They became my favorites of his creations because they are small and lady-like, and feature bears. I kept them on the windowsill knowing the right woman would come along and love them like I do.

Two years later, the spurs have found a home. Cliff came to our house to order some spurs, bought a fancy bit, headstall and set of matching spurs that we had for sale (E. Garcia, not one of Pete's). And I showed him those little bear spurs. He bought them for his wife.

He said when she got them, that she adored them, took them to Grange and showed them off. He next brought over her new, small pink boots (Justins) for Pete to fit the spurs to the boots, add heel chains and jingle bobs.

What a sweet little set-up that is! I know, a working cowgirl would never wear pink boots, and neither would I back in "the day." But now, I am older and can't ride and that outfit looks so darn cute!

I needed to call Cliff to let him know that CJ's spurs and boots were ready, and I got to talk with CJ herself. Instantly, we found out we are kindred spirits.

She is 63, and rides 3-4x a week, she said. She described a recent ride where she and her riding friend got lost and rode up onto a peak to call Cliff and let him know they'd be late getting home, and then... things all started burning behind my eyes. She and I talked about breeds of horses (she has Peruvian Pasos) and training methods, and everything I know about horses surged to top like cream rising from the mouth of an old milk bottle left on the doorstep years ago on a frosty morn.

We talked about 45 minutes and I knew this was someone I clicked with. But...out of nowhere, I was overcome with hot tears and an inability to talk. I tried to hint that talking about this was hard for me. CJ, bless her heart, didn't get it right away and laughed and continued to talk about riding various horses and "keeping them rode," and such. I tried to speak but was choked up with emotion.

I finally had to tell her, "I'm sorry, but I can't talk about this anymore. You are who I always planned to be, growing old, feisty and foxy and free to ride the hills."

After hanging up, I guess part of the reason might be those little bear spurs. And also, the woman who purchased my dear horse, Shadow, when I realised I'd never be able to ride him, just emailed me and sent me lots of photos of him and her, she expressing her obvious affection for him.

Or...

it's just that some wounds are too deep to heal.