Personal Narrative: The Butterflies

“I continue to be interested in new things that seem old and old things that seem new.” -Jaquline T Robetson. Doing something for the first time, something you have never done before can be intimidating. Although trying that new thing can also be electrifying. When nerves get the best of someone these little butterflies will swarm in their stomach; these butterflies will fly up to their chest. When the butterflies reside in the chest they flap so hard making their chest feel like it might just bust open. When I should have heard “Hi! I’m Olivia” I got tiny little butterflies prancing around my head. I have been riding for nearly seven years. Seeing someone work with a horse willingly seems to still mystify me. My friends and family have all

I quickly gathered myself and whipped open my car door, zipping my jacket up as far as it could go, somehow the cold wind still whipped against my face. I darted to the barn and hurled open the door. I was in luck, Olivia and her mother were not yet here. I bring out my hulky companion in order to prepare him to meet his newest friend. About five minutes after I got there I heard the squeaky door open, followed by a stomp stomp to shake off the snow. All of a sudden a little girl peaked around the corner bearing and sneaky smile. I thrust out my hand while she looked at me and then back to my hand she plopped her tiny hand in mine. “Hi! I am Sara! This is Apollo” I say pointing to the sleepy pont behind me. “I am Olivia” she mumbled. Clumsily saying hi to each horse until she reaches Apollo “Hi Apollo!” The eagerness in her voice is audible. Olivia reaches her hand to the sky and rises onto her tiptoes. She places her hand on his cream colored neck, with one gulp Apollo’s furry coat swallowed her small hand. Apollo huffed a sigh and turned his head back to her, as if to say,” Nice to meet

We ended in the tack room. I grabbed my brushes and mint for Olivia to give to the greedy pony. I taught Olivia all about the different brushes and the customary way he and I so things. Apollo was hardly muddy since none of the horses have been out, due to the cold. I am mostly convinced she could have spent the entire night brushing my gentle giant; however, I am not patient enough to stand around watching her braid my ponies hair. We ventured back into the tack room to grab the saddle. “English okay?” I asked. Olivia just stared at me blankly. “The type of saddle?” I pushed, blink blink, still nothing. “Okay well English is the type of saddle I ride. That saddle is Western.” I told her whilst pointing at a bulky, blinged out saddle with a vibrant pink blanket. I went on to explain the obvious pros of English and the cons of