the moment our journey began

We were both searching for an answer. I for an understanding of what was happening. He was looking for anything. Because now I know he knew next-to-nothing.

And I knew less.

After 12 years of riding and owning several horses, I’d purchased the ‘big’ horse. He was the beautiful, athletic creature who would know no boundaries. Our future was limitless. And I believed that promise because those were the breeder’s words. Isn’t she the expert?

It wasn’t until I’d been unseated several times by my kind, gentle boy that I knew we needed something else.  An approach different from the one that passes as normal in Ohio. You know, the way all dressage horses and riders are trained. That’s what the internationally recognized German trainer claimed. And I believed him. Who was I to think differently?

It was only when my baby horse bucked so hard I could not remain in the saddle that I changed my mind. Oh he’s athletic. He tossed me right against the wall like a crash test dummy. I hit the ground with a sound I’d only heard on episodes of Batman as a kid. ‘Splat.’ When your limp body lands hard on the ground you hear ‘splat’ ring right between your ears.

All this ignorance played out for an audience of 40 clinic auditors.

Embarrassed? Of course. Humiliated. Absolutely. Angry? That’s it. Angry because the experts who advised purchasing him are now telling me to sell him. Where’s the training? The guidance? The process? Selling a young, untrained and now anxious horse because of difficult behavior seems so very wrong.

And it’s not horsemanship.

I knew we needed some other way that I could not yet articulate. We needed to know each other so we could communicate. It was my responsibility to educate him, not sell him. But I didn’t know how.

Word spreads fast among riders*. Get bucked-off in front of a clinic audience and your infamous deeds are known throughout the region overnight. I bet that’s how Caroline heard about us.

She caught me in tears near his stall door when I was sure no one was watching. I was at wits end.

Her exact words are lost now but I remember the phrase that convinced me. “Give me three weeks with your boy. He will be so intellectually engaged that your relationship can begin.” These words from a classically trained Dutch dressage rider? No whips or chains? Really?

We were going nowhere fast so the chance to get somewhere slow sounded good enough. And Caroline’s horses are magnificent … and happy.

I handed her his lead rope, my trust and our future.

Beginnings are fun. Fun because every misstep is a chance to learn. Everyone pointed and giggled when I dropped the 45-foot line, stepped on the string attached to the orange stick-thing, tripped myself and then couldn’t stand up because I was laughing so hard. But my wild boy, the out-of-control five-year-old Thoroughbred just stood there licking and chewing, chewing and licking. “Hey lady, stand up because I’m due for an ear massage or other form of equine admiration. Pronto.”

My boy impressed Caroline so much that she asked to take him on a working vacation: two weeks in Ocala. So last November I watched them drive away. I like to think he won a scholarship to boarding school.**

Once in Ocala he proved he was the star I know he is. My boy navigated the car wash with ease and charmed Cathy as he emptied the water cart of cups and containers.  “I see you have a little Allure there, huh?” she remarked to Caroline.

Now his muscled back swings beneath me while we trot through the fields past snorting horses, traffic cones, and the gigantic smiley-face ball. Oh we love to play with the gigantic ball.

No canter under saddle yet, but it can wait. Because we trust each other.

Just watch what happens next.

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* I use the word ‘riders’ because almost all the ‘horsewomen’ who surrounded my boy and me know only riding. Because we only know what we’re taught.

** He even ordered at the Starbucks drive-thru on the way down.