Ride Thirteen

That tall bay mare of mine? I am loving her more each day. I feel like these past few rides (and really, the time before and after the ride most of all) we are really starting to click. We are becoming one another's. We are creating routine and building trust. She looks up from her hay and comes to greet me when I whistle. I trace the little white swoosh on her forehead and briefly wonder why I didn't just change her name to Nike. I curry away any mud and Banjo drool as she works on her dinner (beautiful, fragrant, soft grass hay). I pick the shavings out of her mane. I run my hand down her legs, knowing now how they feel - warm, firm, the little jagged bumps of two old splints on her front legs. The little gray scrape on the outside of her right hind, all that remains of her injury. I fasten the white boots around her front legs, saddle and bridle her, sweeping her frizzy forelock over the brow band. I know which hole each buckle goes to, the comforting ritual of black leather and silver fittings. I back her away from her hay, assuring her that it will be there when she gets back, a satisfying snack after a workout. I don my helmet and gloves, call "Door!" as I pick up a dressage whip, lead her out in to the arena, tighten her girth.

Last night was our lucky thirteenth ride. I'm keeping track on my phone - there's an app for that! She positions herself politely next to the mounting block. We walk the perimeter of the whole arena for a while, she frequently checks herself out in the mirrors and I say "Who's that pretty girl?" every time, then decide I will add Madonna's "Who's That Girl" to Dani's playlist. We do some walk/halt transitions and she responds to breath alone.  I establish more connection, pick up my hands, stretch my legs down and we begin our trot work, staying at the end of the arena with the dressage letters. We do some small circles and figure 8's, she reaches for contact and there are moments I feel like I am riding the outside of the horse like I'm supposed to. I decide we are not going to do any canter work because we've been struggling with it and I want to reward her work ethic and not overface her. I know that she gets stressed out with the canter and we might as well revel in the gorgeous rhythmic trot that she has and establish more strength and balance there. From time to time the mare gives me a glimpse of self-carriage. She actively seeks direction and remains beautifully forward despite the wrinkle of concentration above her eye, the flared nostril, the deep huffing breaths as she tries so hard. In the mirror I catch her profile looking indisputably Andalusian.

We do some leg yields, learning the vocabulary of our new language and striving for the marriage of forward and sideways. I sit the trot, allow her to feel more of my leg. Once to the left, from the quarter line to the wall, we get it. I see the correct bend and the correct trajectory in the mirror. I praise her and toss the reins to the buckle. She is done. We cool out for a few passes around the arena, then I dismount, remove her saddle, unbuckle the flash and let her follow me to pick up her piles. She noses the mounting block endearingly, as if she's wondering if I'm going to get on bareback like I did the second time I rode her. I'd have no reservations doing so, but I like this quiet time on the ground. She stands patiently while I maneuver the fork, and we make several trips to the muck bucket, her walking behind me with her head down obligingly.  I can circle her with a point of my finger, a lean of my shoulder. We go back to her stall, and I am able to turn her around and park her next to her water buckets with body language alone. She waits for my release despite the remains of her dinner in the corner. I remove her bridle. Her eye is soft. She munches on her hay while I rub her down, brush away the sweat marks. I close my lockers after getting her peppermint treats - always two, four if she's extra good. Tonight she gets four. She sucks my fingertips into her mouth with the treats - she does this every time - it's funny and they go nowhere near her teeth. I tell her goodnight. I smile as I cross the sand on my own two feet with so much less grace than on borrowed hooves.

A New Chapter

Last night I rode my new horse again at my new barn (her old barn).

There was one person riding a paint while I was tacking up but we ended up with the arena to ourselves.

My first unsupervised ride on her since before her injury. She was relaxed and listening.

We trotted! That active, rhythmic trot which won me over.  I called her Dandywine and Leonine and I swear she was admiring herself in the mirrors...maybe we both were a little.  She even offered to canter, but not yet. Though she is sound, that leg is still tender.  My confidence is still tender.  We are in no hurry.

We did transitions with breath alone, as my trainer recently taught me.  Breathe in: trot.  Breathe out: walk. Exhale again: halt.  She responds beautifully to this. It is amazing. 

She looks so enormous when I'm standing next to her, but mounted she feels right. 

Afterward she followed me while I picked up the mess she had made (mare's metabolism works wonderfully) and I soaked in the clean, organized atmosphere and routine of the place.  My name on her stall card.  Her turnout companion waiting for her when she got back to her stall so he can continue his adoring uninterrupted gaze through the stall divider.  A little hay left in her corner feeder. 

As I was untacking her I realized...

This all happened so quickly and not the way anyone would have hoped, but there I was...riding my big bay dressage prospect in a dressage barn. Putting all my things in their place and currying the sweat from a tall mare's back. My tall mare.

The recent chaos has kind of overshadowed the glimmer of a dream coming true. It's all still rather unreal.

I gave her two little peppermint treats and closed her outer stall door.  She lives at "E" along the indoor arena.  The sun set a gentle pink as I  walked to my car.  It was a good night.

Reboot

I've been quiet here because there has been too much to say...the paradox of blogging.

I have had my new mare for a month now, and unfortunately not a lot of good came out of that month.  She got injured, I got scared.  The happy ending, or happy beginning,  is that I have moved her back to her old barn and last night, I rode her for the first time since July 6th.

I should have kept her there all along, but don't we all wish we could turn back time and make better choices, choices that can only be clear in hindsight?

More changes are on the horizon, and it's this wish for x-ray vision into the future and the shadow of the unknown that is making me hesitant to commit to any one thing.

But amid the spin of all the options and the circumstances that I ride the wave of, some pieces seem to be settling into pattern like multicolor shards in a kaleidoscope.  The simple heart of the matter is:

Last night I pushed back all the reasons not to, and got back on my new horse.  

We only walked.  We're still figuring each other out.  We are finding our way back to the place we started, where we didn't have a good history or a bad history, but no history.  We will walk as slowly as we need to onto a clean page.


After I took her saddle off I stood facing her and wrapped my arms over the top of her neck. She lowered her head and pressed her forehead into my chest. We both sighed.  We both promised to try.