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June 15, 2009
The horse's name was Carrie, and I rode her for an entire summer out near London when I was twelve. She was fast, faster than the wind's whistles. She jumped fences so cleanly I hardly noticed the motion. I learned more about life in five minutes on her than in the last five years of my adult life. She loved carrots, but she loved apples more, cores and all. She was to be bred the following summer; I think she knew that was going to happen. We'd ride like light for miles, then return to the farmhouse for good eating.