Eight Months Later
The wind whipped my hair and I smiled.
It was a beautiful spring morning, still chilly, but radiant.
I leaned forward and brushed my hand over Argus’s neck. He nickered, but kept on galloping through the field, the muscles of his powerful body contracting and expanding with each move.
It had taken him three surgeries and about four months to recover from the shot, but after that, he progressed almost daily. His jumpy and scared self was left behind, and he became this beautiful, strong horse I always knew he could be. He was also a fast runner. I had gotten many offers on him, but I refused them all. He was my horse … my friend. There wasn’t any money in the world that could take him from me.
I pulled on the reins and directed him back to the stable.
He neighed in
