Cabbage and Beep often come with me to the barn on the weekends. They wait in the shade while Sam and I circle the arena at varying speeds, crisscrossing our paths and marching down straightaways. When we jump, I round the corner near the lone tree, and I allow myself to be distracted from tweaking and lifting and pushing long enough to see the little baseball-cap-wearing form. Often, a chubby little hand raises, pauses, and waves, flapping from the wrist. She is saying hello (probably to Sam, but I'll take it).
The other day, Beep was a little too busy to wave at us. I could see her under the picnic table, crouching and sifting dirt. I called to her and although her head lifted briefly, she didn't wave. Instead she went back to her dirt sifting. I knew she'd be dirty, I could see it from Sam's back seven feet in the air and twenty feet away.
This is a barn kid in the making.
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