Saint? George

I have a palomino colt named George. Because I believe in signs.

Cathy convinced me to take his dam as a "resale project." Put a couple months' training on her, rehome. Easy as pie, right? Except for the very first time I rode her, I was on her for about 5 minutes before I sent Cathy a text message telling her I was keeping her forever. I immediately felt at home on that mare, but she'll get her own blog all to herself.

I had the vet out to do teeth, and asked them to also do a pregnancy check, since she was stabled right next door to a stallion and was not coming in heat, plus she came from a breeding farm. Sure enough, there was a blob on the untrasound. The vet declared my mare to be 60 days pregnant, because of the ribcage on the fetus. It still looked like a blob to me. I even thought that perhaps the vet get his eyes checked.

Sure enough, about 6 months after the ultrasound, my mare began looking pregnant. I stopped riding her when her saddle started not fitting correctly. We knew the foal would be a palomino. The stallion that got out at her old home was a cremello (a very nice one at that. Thank God Maresy has good taste) and the mare is a chestnut. The only possible color kiddo could be was palomino. Which is ironic, because as a hunter/saddleseat/dressage snob, I've never cared for palominos, and swore I would never own one. (Perhaps I should swear that I will never ever own a black Lusitano?)

When my mare got HUGE and was walking awkwardly, I had a very vivid dream that I was going out to the barn and had a palomino colt named George. Naturally, I told my friend Katie about the dream, and for the 2 weeks leading up to his birth, Katie and I joked about how I would "love him and hug him and call him George."

When the foal arrived and I had an adorable, gangly colt, I called my mom to tell her the news. I kid you not, the very first thing she said to me is, "Oh, it's St. George's Day! You should name him George!"

Not about to name my colt after some random saint (I am Catholic, and the saint you are named after becomes your "patron" saint, the one who looks after you, so it matters), I googled St. George.

Imagine my surprise when the very first image I found was of St. George on the back of a very intimidating-looking PALOMINO (Well, I guess it could be a grey, but it looks mighty gold for a grey)

So, I took it as a sign. I believe in signs. George it is.

And for those of you who are curious, St. George is apparently a Roman soldier-turned-martyr, who slayed a dragon (suspected to be Satan) to save a princess (I'm pretty sure it was just a virgin). It's a very romantic tale, and St. George is one of the most prominent military saints. So, in short, he is a very strong and powerful saint, and so I hoped that my colt would live up to his name and not be, you know, a sissy.


So now, a year later, I am pleased that George (also affectionately referred to as Georgie, Georgie Porgie, Porge, Jorge (pronounced "Hore-hay," in case your Spanish pronunciation is a little shaky), Baby, Child, Colt, Bad Colt, Gorgeous George, and Georgous (for good measure)) had indeed thus far live up to his namesake, except minus the "saint" part. He is fearless. He is bold. He is charming and friendly. But he also gets into trouble, no fence or gate can contain him, and he is very likely too smart for his own good.

But I also was able to teach him all of the showmanship maneuvers in less than 30 minutes total, broken up over 3 10-minute sessions. I do love this colt. He will be fun. I can tell already.