I see my cowboys boots through the gap under the stable's door as he approaches the barn. His worn old boots make a smotching nois as he walks through the mud. The horse in the next box moves, anxious to see him. Then as he stands in front of the door, I hear the rattling as he removes the padlock from the latch and opens the doors.
The morning light blinds me for a moment, and once I my eyes get used to the brightness of the day, I see him standing next to me on the straw on which I have been sleeping.
His usual way of saying good morning is by kicking me in the balls until I stand on all fours. I let his pointed toe smack my nuts a few times before he convinces me of getting up.
Without unlocking the chain around my neck that keeps me to a ring on the floor and allows me only to be on all fours, he takes the bit that has been hanging on the wall overnight, and carefully straps it to my head. I know that he does not want me to talk, and with the bit in my mouth, I don't even have a chance to say a word. My cowboy spits his dip; I feel his warm spit running down my forehead. He uses the reigns to pull me to the stable door. There's no sense in resisting.
He stops me near the door. Time to saddle up. I see the other horses, still waiting in their boxes. They are looking at me, anxious to get some attention themselves. The cold air that comes in through the door pushes away the smell of horse shit that has been building up overnight. I'm looking forward to what comes next.
My cowboy takes a saddle from a rack. I feel the cold stiff leather against my body. It smells like sweat and hay. He takes great care in strapping it on my back. A collar around the neck prevents it from moving backwards, while the girth tied around my chest holds it on my back. Cold stiff leather securing a saddle to my back. Looking back under my stomach, I see the stirrups and the cynch around my stomach and his worn muddy boots.
Yet another kick in the balls, and he swings on my back. I know what he means when he presses his legs into my stomach. He trained me well. I walk through the barn-door, feel the mud between my fingers and hesitate. It's time to go for a ride.