Personal Narrative: Where We Keep Our Horses

I looked out the window of our car and across the 15 acre pasture and back to the old creaky barn where we kept our horses. The sun was shining on the windows of the barn, reflecting our large yard and garden. We pulled up and Cherry, my red roan Quarter Horse mare, raised her head up out of the long grass. Still chomping on the grass she had in her mouth, she nickered and came cantering up to the barn. JoBey and Billy, my sister’s and my mom’s horses, were in their own pasture and came running in behind Cherry. “Where do you want to ride today?” my mom asked, as we got out of the car and went into the barn. “I was thinking we could ride down to the far end of the pasture,“ I said, grabbing a halter as I opened her door and put it on her. Tying her to a post in her stall, I gave her a kiss on the nose.
As I turned around, my mom was getting Billy’s saddle and bridle of the rack and was carrying it over to his stall, which was right next to Cherry’s. I took my western saddle and bridle off of their racks, took them over to the stall and put them on Cherry, smoothing out the wrinkles in the saddle pad. Then settled the saddle on her back, tightened her girth and slipped her bridle on over her