My current horse associates will laugh at me because of this blog post. They see me tromping around in my boots wearing what is probably a relatively blank expression when little do they know in my head I’m really waxing eloquent.
I’m going to miss everything about horses. Its all in the moments, you know? Its in the moments of great accomplishment, when I nail the sitting trot after pouring sweat blood and tears into the effort (sometimes all in the most literal sense I can assure you). Its in the moments of tender amusement, when I stand filling the water tubs and one of the mares wanders up to drink and I laugh outloud because of the way her ears bob to the rhythm of her swallows. Its in the moments of wonder when a herd of mares and foals gallops right past me with the sun setting behind the mountains behind them and the horses are all breathing in and out in perfect synchronization.
There’s just something about horses to a girl, whether she’s a dressage trainer with notoriety and a professional reputation…or just a scrawny kid in hand-me-down overalls who’s happy on the days her neighbor’s bratty pony lets her get close enough to get a halter over his nose. People say about dressage, “Isn’t that the fancy proper kind of riding?” Well yes, good posture is helpful when influencing the horse’s movement. Wonderful sort of leverage, really. Throw in strong core balance, a flowing seat, quick and generous rein aids, and accurate timing among other things and you’re ready to make a half-ton beast your dance partner and that, ladies and gentlemen, is nothing short of empowering. As I’ve said before, there are few things as magical as having personally convinced a horse that he’s capable of floating happily in a delicately-balanced whirlwind of his own power.
And since I’m feeling sentimental, I’ll go so far as to say that even the unpleasant moments that are caused by just being around horses will be missed. Well, maybe I’ll say that the potential unpleasant moments will be missed. Ah, the element of danger. On a windy day when the horses are frisky and you put your foot in the stirrup, hoist yourself into the saddle, and wonder fleetingly if you’ll make your exit in the same orderly manner or if one of those unpleasant moments will occur. And, for that matter, if it will be in regular time or slow-motion. That notorious slow-motion fall from the saddle, where I once had and took the time to literally say “Oh bother” as I left the saddle and made my way unintentionally toward the earth. Time slowed enough during my descent for me to notice the aphid’s eyes widen below me before my face ploughed unceremoniously into the grass.
But horses make up for the unpleasant moments. They offer comfort in ways that nothing and no one else can. Some horses snuffle you with their lips. Others walk up to you and set their heads against your chest and wait for you to lay your head on their head, put your hands on their cheeks, and tell them they’re wonderful. One fragile old thoroughbred I knew would waggle his head and then gaze into the distance with eyes so bright with wonder that you just knew he saw angels. My own dear gelding stood still as a horse statue the day years ago when I walked out to him in the field, clambered up and sprawled across his back and let the warm summer rain wash away my tears and worries about starting college. Horses are poetry and possibility and freedom and adventure and the best dang method of occupation there is. I’m off on a new adventure at this point in my life. But I’ll look back fondly on the time I’ve spent with horses and horsefolk, and I’ll eagerly await the day I find myself back in the saddle again. That day will come back around. It always does.
