I picked Callie nine years ago as a two year old from a herd of rescued PMU (Pregnant Mare Urine) foals. I thought she had the most beautiful physique I'd ever seen. Although she is a registered paint, she looked for all the world like I imagined a thoroughbred should look with her deep chest, trim muscular hindquarters and a large head atop a powerful neck. She has been blessed with a kind eye and a matching personality. Callie's broad bald face sports a single white eyelash.
At eleven her sleek dark bay coat still shimmers and stretches across muscles that flex and ripple over bone and blood. And after a summer on pasture with all its high noon sugar levels, she's heavier than I would like. Her weight can effect her soundness because of past problems with her deep flexor tendon and thin soles. I keep her in orthopedic boots which support her frogs and soles when the ground is as dry and hard as it has been for the past three or four weeks. I let her run barefoot when the earth is soft and moist. The moisture allows the hoof to soften and flex. She has not been lame in months and I hope in saying that I haven't jinxed her.
Just thought I'd brag about my girl, Callie, the clown that winds my mare Stormy up and then watches her run herself into a lather, my friend that nudges me playfully whenever the mood strikes, and the smoothest horse I have ever ridden. My good friend, Callie.