A few sleeps ago, Two-Legged Mom went away. Then she came back. She was very excited, just like me when I want to go into the wood pen and buck and jump. But she didn't go into the wood pen, she talked instead. She talked a lot about the idea she got while she was away.
She wants me to tell my story, all about how I was a show horse and won that big prize, then broke my leg, then got better. Of course, I can't hold one of those little sticks and make marks on the paper, like she does. I've tried to hold the stick, but everyone takes it away from me, which is okay, I guess, because I don't know what kind of marks to make. I'd sure like to try one day, though.
Two-Legged Mom calls it "writing my memoir." I'm not sure what that means, but I hope I figure it out before we're done.
This is what I told her the first day:
"When I was just a colt, my mother called me a simpleton. That must be a good thing, because I won lots of horse shows. Then I broke my leg. It sure changes a guy, but I hope I'm still a simpleton. I'd like to make my mom proud."
That's all for now, but I'll be telling Two-Legged Mom a lot more.
P.S. Would anyone else like to read my story?