She is standing there at the rails looking at me. She is doing that often these days. She is saying goodbye. Goodbye to me and the property, as she is moving to town. A shame really, I liked it with her. She is looking at me ever so sad. I don't know why she is moving if she finds it so hard.

Next week the people come to look at me. It's a woman and her daughter, who will take me away. I will be alright, of course. Kids will ride me and there are another three horses and hundreds of acres of grass.

But saying goodbye is sad. I am sad for her. But it is better for her to move, living all alone so far from town is not good at her age.

I remember the day she came to the farm. She'd come to buy the saddle for her daughter. But then she saw me. She thought I was so beautiful, a horse fit for kings. That's when she bought me.

And, yes, I have a few tricks, like to step aside when she wanted to get in the saddle and to walk off before she sat. It makes life more interesting.

She won't be there when I go. She's arranged it not to be around that day. She thinks that will be easier. I know she'll be thinking of me, and even four years later she'll be devastatingly sad to have had to let me go, and she'll weep for me. But life isn't fun, sometimes.

She's getting a bit too old to ride. But when she dies, she tells me, she'll be riding in heaven, all day and every day, in the sun. And she'll have all these horses with her.