It’s hard to believe that at one point life had seemed dull, boring, average and uneventful. That was the way I liked it. My life was routine--one day at a time with no extra fuss. Everything I did was so uneventful that, for the most part, I didn’t even dream, or at least I didn’t have any dreams that I could remember. My days followed a simple rhythm. I got up every Monday morning, took a shower, ate breakfast, and headed to school. There, I sat and suffered for eight hours. I was in my first year of classes for veterinary medicine. Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved my coursework. The reason I felt like I was suffering was because those eight hours stood between me and Dodge.
Dodge was my thirteenth birthday present. He’d been a goofy looking weanling with long legs and soft eyes. He’d stood looking up at me from his stall with a big green bow tied around his neck. He was perfect.
You see, I’d been riding since I was eight and begging for a horse since I could talk. Before he’d given me my horse, my dad had told me I had to prove to him that I was going to stick with it. That hadn’t been hard to do. I can’t begin to count the arguments we’ve had about the fact that I spend most of my free time with Dodge.
Dodge is now ten and I’m twenty-three. He has grown into a beautiful, muscular horse and I’m, well, I’m happy with life as it is. Just me and Dodge. It’s not that I’m not interested in men. I’ve had one fairly serious relationship that lasted a year and a half. At least I thought it was serious. When I think back on it now, it’s hard to believe I’d thought he was the most amazing guy. Well, he was, until I loaned him my truck for a weekend and found a very nice pair of lacy underwear that didn’t belong to me under the seat the next day. They say Canadians are sweet, polite, and will forgive anything and everything. Yeah. Apparently, I didn’t get the memo.
I’ve had a few other boyfriends, but most of them didn’t understand why I’d rather go to the barn on a Friday night instead of going to the bar. The thought of going out and being paraded around just isn’t my thing, and I’ll admit that some of it probably has to do with my personal image of myself. I don’t put myself in the “beautiful people” category.
My slightly wavy dark brown hair that falls to the middle of my back is never done. I prefer ponytails and baseball hats. I also don’t have the greatest body. At five-foot-four, I’m kind of thin and seriously lacking curves. Of course, I don’t really dress to flatter, either. My wardrobe consists of Wranglers, t- shirts, and tank tops, though I do own one dress. My dad made me buy it for my cousin’s wedding when I was seventeen. It’s been worn as little as possible since then. I think my best feature is my eyes. They’re a deep green with gold and grey specs and long eyelashes. No mascara for me. Well, no makeup, period. I always end up smearing it because I forget I’m wearing it.
You’re probably getting tired of hearing about me, but I need you to understand one thing before I get on with this story. I’ve always been a loner, that person who is never comfortable around people. Now, don’t get me wrong, I like most people, but I’ve always felt like I didn’t belong. You know, like there was something very important missing.
Then one day everything changed. It was a Friday…