I tried a horse on Saturday that was the stuff of my dreams on paper - under-saddle PRE mare - and even more stunning in person. From her back, though, and even before, I knew she was not the horse for me, or perhaps more importantly, that I was not the person for her. Losing confidence like that I can feel like I don't have any business with horses at
all, but luckily that fades quickly and I remember there are plenty of horses I
have trusted and been able to ride well.
It was more disappointing than I expected
- an example of that inevitable disconnect between the dream and
reality of horses and riding. For most of us it is a deeply passionate
affair rooted in childhood and, in a sense - fairytale. We can't help
but create these lofty dreams and images of the ideal creature, the
magical communion. It's why it can be the most soaring fulfillment - a
connection both earthly and otherworldly - and also heartbreaking - a
fall you can feel in your bones and soul. The unrealized dream of
bonding with my mother's horse. The diminishing dream of my reunion with Coro (anything but endless is crushing). There I was, the decades-old dream of an Andalusian
(who will always be the ultimate fantasy, with their noble eyes and royal heritage - why do you think
they are always in movies?) within reach, and yet slipping almost
immediately through my fingers like smoke. The day took on a heaviness
reflected in the darkening skies, and my hopes of a renewing ride on my
beloved familiar boy were swept away in thunder and lightening. I met
up with friends later for a birthday dinner, but I was distracted and
pensive. I had another full day of horses on Sunday, and I wondered if I
hadn't taken on too much.
But Sunday morning came with a
welcome, if inexplicable sense of positivity. I woke feeling the thread
of possibility glimmering with fresh dew, and I wanted to follow.
Since I was venturing south, I had arranged to have breakfast with my oldest friend
at her house in Palmer Lake - a beautiful rustic cottage tucked in the
trees. It's interesting how my sense of perfect habitat has changed
over the years - I envied just a bit their wilderness perch. We chatted
over pancakes and fruit salad, talked of our respective new additions: my horse search and her
pregnancy - still hard to believe my friend of twenty-five years will be
a mother before the year is through. A Halloween child, perhaps! A
shorter visit than I would have liked, but still a wonderful opening to
the day.
I went on my way to a farm in eastern Colorado, where my
trainer was presenting a "Riding to Music" clinic in the afternoon. I
wanted to catch some of the other trainer, but they had already finished
the horse work and were just having an informal pre-lunch
discussion. The clinician said a few things that stuck with me - common
sense but worth remembering. One was "Small steps prevent big
mistakes." I found that reassuring since I often have a self-imposed pressure that I
should be doing more and faster, but there is no reason for it. He
also said that he never, ever wants a horse to buck under his control.
He does not believe in "getting the bucks out" on a lunge line. He said
he would rather turn a horse out loose if it has any inclination to
buck. I'm not a huge fan of lunging myself, just because I'd rather be
riding or walking with the horse, but this made a lot of sense to me. My trainer's introduction
was very emotional for me. She shares my same reverence for horses, my
awestruck appreciation that they let us ride them at all, the philosophy
that we owe them, not the other way around. There were some good laughs thrown in to lighten the mood. It felt
so good to be in a room of similar-minded people, blinking back tears,
breathing in horse sweat and Show Sheen and knowing that, yes, this was
without a doubt where I belong.
I watched the two groups of
riders, the horses' varying reactions to the music, each gaining
confidence and relaxation as they learned some patterns and discussed
using music as a training tool and creating playlists for your horse -
things I've already been working on with myself with the help of my trainer. I admired the amber-eyed Morgan,
the grey Quarter Horse, the Paints, the Percheron cross, the black Appendix
and the palomino. I admired them all. And then I drove back to my own barn under alternating blue and grey skies and spent a deliciously leisurely few hours with
Coro. His breathing was quiet and easy. I groomed him thoroughly, brushed his forelock the way he loves
and leaned against him with my arm slung over his back. this is one of the perks of a short horse. I swept his back clean and put
his saddle and bridle on, a process I could do with my eyes closed, the
ritual of it so calming. In no hurry. I talked with my barn manager about my horse search, my discouraging ride, while we both smiled at the ever-lovable Coro. He told me one of the barn cats had jumped onto Coro's back going after a bird that was already there - I so wish I'd gotten to see that! We rode indoors since it was so hot, I played
our music, and I just settled into his sweet trot, his willing sighs. I
let the reins to the buckle and steered with my seat - we did circles
and serpentines and leg yields with no hands. He had a bounce to his step for a Gipsy
Kings song, a swing to his back for Rodrigo y Gabriela. The thunder
began to rumble again and we cooled out as the wind started to knock at
the doors. I untacked him and let him eat the long grass by the picnic
table as the storm blew in, utterly happy and at home.
