Trails & Arrows
Yesterday I brought my bow along, slung over my chest. I brought one field-point arrow and held it the same way I would hold a dressage crop. I couldn't help but laugh at myself a bit there, a technique for another time and place, but totally useful. I couldn't feel farther from a dressage ring at the moment though. I was in beat up carhartt pants, an old paint-stained shirt, bow on my back and riding a laden pony. We weren't out hunting, just target practice. We'd ride and at a walk I'd drop the reins and try to get Merlin to stop by my butt along, sinking in deep and saying whoa so silently you'd think it was pillow talk. I'm no Merida just yet, there are no handless gallops with a full quiver, but a girls got to start somewhere. I'd shoot at a tree or a post, something I could still get from horseback without getting off. Merlin puts up with it all, long as he can stop and eat from time to time. A war horse he is not. He's a farmer's horse. And that will do.