Читать книгу Finding the Missed Path. The Art of Restarting Horses онлайн

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“Hey Mark, it’s TJ,” the voice on the other end of the line said in an upbeat voice. “I’m not sure if you remember me. You helped me with a horse a few years back here at my place.”

I did remember. TJ was a professional truck driver who owned his own business south of Denver. He had a small fleet of over-the-road trucks and a half dozen or so drivers that worked for him. I had gone to TJ’s place several years earlier, before I was doing clinics full time, to help him with a horse he was having some trouble with, a big bay gelding named Swift. As it turned out, the problems the two of them were having had been relatively superficial and after just a couple of visits we had cleared things up enough to where the pair didn’t really need my help anymore. I had liked TJ. He was a big, kindhearted guy with a quick smile and a ready laugh who loved his horses and tried very hard to do the right thing by them.

“Well TJ,” I said, genuinely glad to hear from him. “It’s been a while! How have you been?”