Bridge Called Hope by Kim Meeder Page B

that her child’s heart had not yet come to terms with what will be inevitable for us all. I wanted to cry. She wanted to cry. It was such an awkward moment that we just stood together in the tack room looking down toward the floor.
    A lonely tear slid down her cheek and dropped off her chin.
    There were no words to say. While holding her tack over one arm, I reached down and rested my hand on the back of her bowed head. Her blond waves were so smooth.
    I ran my fingers through the baby soft ringlets that had gathered on the back of her neck.
    In complete silence, little tear drops began to dot the tack room floor.
    Within the faint breeze moving across the ranch, time just seemed to blow away.
    As she began to gather herself, I felt her body rise with a shuddering sigh. Then, out of the stillness rose a thin voice thatwasn’t much more than a whisper: “If I had my own horse … I would name him Promise Land.”
    Kneeling down before her, I looked up into her flushed face and simply asked, “Do you think Promise Land is the right name for him?”
    While catching a tear with her bottom lip, she silently nodded in agreement.
    “Well, that’s it then! His name is Promise Land,” I said, with as much enthusiasm as the moment would bear. In return she gave me a weak smile and began wiping off her face.
    “Let me grab his bridle and we’ll be good to go,” I said, while reaching toward the back wall of the tack room. Angelica had walked out ahead of me onto the small porch. With new resolve she placed her little fists on her hips and leaned forward, nearly shouting,
“Hey, Promise! How d’ya like yer new name?!”
    In moments, we were leading Promise into the round pen. I told her that we were first going to play a game of Hide and Seek. “You need to spend a bit of time rubbing his face, cheeks, and neck, and when I count to twenty, you have to ‘hide’ somewhere in the round pen, okay?”
    Sometimes kids remind me of how literally they apply what adults might ask of them. For, at my request, Angelica turned around and gave Promise the nostril noogie of the century! This is a very sensitive area on all horses, and Angelica carried out what she thought I meant to the very fullest of her capability! She grabbed Promise by the nostrils and began rubbing as if she was trying to start a fire between her palms! I’ve never counted to twenty so fast in my whole life! God bless that little horse, he stood there for the entire count and didn’t move a foot. When Angelica stepped away from him to go hide, I was certain his muzzle would be either hairless, smoking, or bleeding! Promisetook it all like a man and was apparently none the worse for wear because of it.
    Angelica skipped about ten steps away, curled up in a little ball, and cupped her hands over her eyes.
    “No fair, peeking,” I said from behind the gate by the round pen wall. She sat so utterly still that it appeared she was nearly holding her breath.
    Promise’s head lowered nearly to the ground as he looked in her direction. With several slow, deliberate steps, he closed the gap between them until his chapped nose touched her back. The instant she turned around and saw her new golden friend, she looked at me with an expression of pure, astonished wonder. “Did you
teach
him to do that?” she asked with an incredulous tone.
    “No … I didn’t. He did that because he wanted to. I think he likes you.”
    Caught in utter amazement, Angelica’s little mouth fell open as her gaze bounced between the horse and me. It was delightfully obvious that the wonder of this little horse choosing her friendship was taking a moment to find its way into her overwhelmed heart.
    “Angelica … do you think he really meant it? Let’s find out for sure. Do it again,” I encouraged. I watched in absolute elation as over and over she “hid” from the little horse as he over and over sought her out for love. The building wonder and enthusiasm on her face was enough