His name is Jorge. Sometimes we use the Spanish pronunciation. Because we are fun, that’s why.

      

I love Jorge. I was broken when I met him, in more ways than one. I lived in a town where I didn’t know a single soul. I had moved my horse and all my material possession there in a borrowed horse trailer in a single trip. I was working off my board, grateful for the chance, broke and trusting strangers to care for my precious Tink. They cared for me too, and now they are not strangers, they are family.

But then I hardly knew them, and was just eager to help in any way I could in order to keep Tink and I in oats and groceries. There were three of the boys; big Jorge, his sensitive half-brother Spike and the small and mighty Thor. They were all in various stages of half-trained and I spent hours on their backs, re-learning how to ride and working them toward fitness and being finished. There were lots of other chores to do and horses to ride, but these three and I shared a bond. I called them my boyfriends.

Each of them has quirks and talents, but Jorge - Lord bless Jorge for defying gravity, logic and belief. Jorge is a very big boy and has the grace, skill and gymnastic gifts usually reserved for small, nimble animals. He doesn’t care about that; he can turn on a dime and balance on his head, all without batting an eye or losing his temper. He’s just Jorge. Most horses panic easily; it’s a defense mechanism that has sustained their survival for generations. Jorge, on the other hand, has trapped himself in a variety of situations, all with a peaceful casually curious look on his face awaiting aid. He is easily bored, has endless energy and is now owned by a wonderful friend with the patience of a saint. She loves him for who he is, which is the only way to love Jorge. I love him that way too.

It’s different now with me and Jorge. I am not fit, and riding Jorge is intensely physical. I am out of breath after just a few minutes, but Jorge needs more than a few minutes. Even though it hurts, I can’t stop smiling. I just love riding this horse, even when my postpartum body is not doing him justice. It’s obvious Jorge has been working since I have been gone, he’s handling my awkwardness well, and rarely takes advantage of my inability. He is still Jorge though, and when I am distracted for a moment he twists his massive body into a pretzel and launches sideways across the arena. I chuckle and take Mark’s advice on how to handle his acrobatic moments of boredom. By the time we finish Jorge is sweating and so am I. He has given me the same gift he has been giving me since we met – an hour of figuring out who I am in a world redefined. The new me, the same old Jorge.