July 24, 2026: Waiting Well

There are weeks when it feels like everything is moving.

Then there are weeks that remind you some things simply can't be rushed.

This was one of those weeks.

We've had very little interest in Bee since listing her for sale. I've been posting in Facebook groups, refreshing listings, answering questions, and trying to get her in front of the right people. Selling a horse can feel like a game of chance. You hope the right person is scrolling at just the right moment, looking for exactly what you're offering.

I also think I've discovered one of the challenges in marketing Bee.

She's advertised as a barrel horse, but I don't have current competition times to show. In the barrel racing world, times matter. They're proof of speed, consistency, and competitiveness. Bee has the training and the foundation, but she's been away from competition long enough that she doesn't have recent numbers to put in front of buyers. That makes it harder for someone shopping online to see everything she has to offer.

We did have one prospective buyer come meet her this week.

She was very kind, but she'd only been riding for about three months.

As much as I'd like to find Bee her next home, that isn't the rider I'm looking for.

One of the things I've learned through this process is that finding Bee a home isn't the goal.

Finding Bee the right home is.

I'm not interested in simply checking the "sold" box.

I'm looking for someone who understands her, appreciates what she already knows, and is willing to put in the time to rebuild the strength and confidence that comes from regular work. She deserves someone who recognizes she's not a finished product anymore, but she has every ingredient to become an incredible partner again.

Oddly enough, I'm not frustrated.

I'm surprisingly at peace with it.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that some things simply aren't mine to control.

God has never once been early.

He's never been late either.

He's always been exactly on time.

If Bee is meant to go to someone else, that person will come along when they're supposed to. And if there's another horse waiting somewhere for me, I'll trust that timing too.

Until then...

We ride.

And honestly, that's not a bad place to be.

We've had some wonderful rides lately. There are still moments where Bee tests me or reminds me she's smarter than I'd like to admit, but there are far more good moments than bad ones now. Each ride teaches me something new, and every week I find myself noticing little things that I would have completely missed six months ago.

Sometimes progress doesn't look like ribbons or championships.

Sometimes it looks like quietly becoming a better horsewoman.

Of course, Mother Nature has been trying to make that a little more difficult.

North Texas has been absolutely sweltering.

Monday reached 100 degrees with humidity hovering around 88 percent.

Tuesday climbed to 104 degrees with humidity in the 90s.

Wednesday wasn't much better.

Even today, our "cool down" only reached 96 degrees before a welcome breeze finally rolled through.

Summer riding in Texas becomes less about setting records and more about managing your horse safely.

Ride.

Sweat.

Rinse.

Then stand in front of the Port-A-Cool until both horse and rider resemble functioning members of society again.

Bee has become quite the fan of our post-ride spa routine. She'll happily stand in front of the cool air while I slowly scrape water off her coat and wait for her to dry. I can't blame her. If someone offered me a giant fan after exercising in triple-digit heat, I'd probably stand there just as long.

Bee isn't a cuddly horse. She isn't the type that follows you around the pasture or begs for scratches. Her personality has always been more, "Thanks for the ride. I'll take it from here." So when we were standing in front of the Port-A-Cool this week and she quietly rested her lips against me, I almost didn't know what to do. She just...stayed there. It wasn't a nudge. It wasn't a search for snacks. It felt intentional. Like the sweetest little horse hug. Could there be another explanation? Of course. But I'm choosing to believe that, for one brief moment, Bee decided to tell me she loved me. Logic has no place in this story, and frankly, I'm perfectly happy living in that little bit of delusion.

One thing I noticed while she was standing there this week was her bottom lip.

It was hanging just a little lower than normal.

If you've spent much time around horses, you've probably seen it. Some horses let their lower lip relax so much that it almost looks like they're melting. Bee only does it when she's completely relaxed, but I've known horses whose lower lip seems to hang loose most of the day.

That reminded me of an old saying I've heard more than once around the barn.

"The horses with the floppy bottom lips are always the good ones."

Like many horse sayings, I wondered whether there was any truth behind it.

As it turns out...sort of.

Veterinary and behavior research tells us that a relaxed lower lip is exactly what it looks like: relaxation. When a horse is resting, dozing, or feels completely safe, the muscles around the muzzle lose tension and gravity simply lets the lower lip hang. Modern equine facial expression research even identifies a "lower lip relax" expression as part of a horse's normal relaxed face.

Training manuals and behavior experts describe the same thing. A horse standing with one hind foot cocked, soft eyes, a lowered head, and a droopy lower lip is usually comfortable enough to let its guard down.

So where did the saying come from?

Probably from observation.

Good horses often become relaxed horses.

They're confident in their surroundings. They've seen a lot. They trust their people. As a result, they spend more time in that soft, peaceful state where the lip hangs loose.

But the droopy lip doesn't cause them to be good horses.

It's simply another sign that they're relaxed.

Of course, context matters. A lower lip that suddenly droops on only one side or is accompanied by difficulty blinking, eating, or other neurological changes should always be evaluated by a veterinarian because facial nerve problems can look very different from simple relaxation.

Bee's little floppy lip?

I'm choosing to take it as a compliment.

She's comfortable enough to completely let her guard down.

And maybe that's this week's lesson for me, too.

Sometimes we spend so much energy trying to make something happen that we forget there's value in simply showing up, doing the work, and trusting the outcome.

Bee and I are still riding.

Still learning.

Still sweating.

Still standing in front of the Port-A-Cool.

Still waiting.

And for now...

That's exactly where we're supposed to be.