Low standards perfect

Several years ago, Stealth's owner, Diana, asked me how he'd behaved on our most recent ride.

"Oh," I told her with a happy sigh. "He was just perfect."

"You always say that," she said. "How come he's never perfect for me?"

I laughed and replied, "I have lower standards." 

Today, I took Olive for a ride with Therese and Karen.

She was perfect.

She was so confident through the berm, I asked if we could ride home through the river bottom.

No problem!

I was so proud of her.

She was just perfect.

But also, I did step off of her twice.

There's a new swing set at one of the houses we pass by, and children were swinging aggressively. That was a lot for a little mustang, and she got stuck. The same thing happened when we passed the golf course porta potty.

Both times, I dismounted, led her past the problem spot, remounted and then continued on as if nothing had happened. 

That's probably not most people's definition of perfect, but I have low standards. Good girl, Olive. I think you're perfect.