It was Summer 2006. I was walking toward a barn that was covered in metal sheets of a wide range of colors shapes and sizes, looking more like a patchwork quilt than a barn. "She's really wild," the owner cautioned as we stepped inside, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the barn, they stabbed every corner, searching for the object of my interest. I found her in a stall in the back corner of the barn. She was a dirty white pinto mare, so tall and skinny she looked more like a pinto girraff than a horse. Her eyes held a distant, glassish startled expression, and the nut-brown ears moved constantly. "She's three hundred pounds underweight," The lady told my dad who nodded numbly. "the dude who owned her had a stroke and didn't have the good sense to sell of his animals. So they were half starved when I found them." I went into the stall, she cowered in the corner, a skinny rack of ribs, head lowered, lips moving, she told me in her language, "I'll be good, don't hurt me--- I'll do whatever you want if you'll leave me alone." That was the single reason I needed Jinah---- She needed me. I spent the rest of the summer trying to touch her. A simple ten second touch could send her plunging across the pen. Haltering her was a nightmare. I got run over. Kicked. Bit . . . .but still, She needed me. That next winter she dragged me through the snow as I tried to halter break her. I chased her around the pasture for hours at a time trying to catch her. January she went to the trainers. He basically made her worse than before--- now I couldn't get within ten feet of her without her running. She was saddlebroke; but green. My second ride on her resulted in a headlong jump into the snow. She was the bucking carousel pony of my dreams. In 2007 I had accomplished breaking her to halter, I could ride her half-ways, and she 'almost' fully trusted me. Summer 07 I spent chasing her around the pasture again, getting bucked off, wrestling with her feet, crying because she didn't trust me. Then something happened. I got horse savvy. I worked Parelli with my horse. We grew a bond--- an understanding. To her I was safety, and she was to me a sense of hope. She was my only friend. Spring 08: If I called, she would answer in her deep,throaty neigh. A light shone in her eyes. A light called love. When I puckered, she would lift her muzzle to my lips for kisses. Her eyes closed at a gentle touch or word. Now I am the only rider for this mare. Anyone else who climbs on her will ten seconds later end up on the ground. I get on, bareback, she lowers her head and sighs. I've been thru hell--- but then so has she. We came out together. I have the trust I have been looking for all these years. The love only an Arab can give.