Ours is a relationship based on mutual respect.
It wasn't always so. In fact, it took a great deal of effort, and prophetic patience, to get to this point. My initial hesitance was a product of something primal; mainly, her imposing stature. I had to look up, to see eye to eye. Her neck craned heavenward, her eyes glared down, and I felt diminutive.
From her standpoint, I was green. I didn't treat her like previous handlers. I let her get away with misbehavior. She could act up, and she did, because I knew no better. Why should she respect me?
We started working together. I began to catch bad behavior, and correct it. When she cut her corners during lunge sessions and actually charged me, I held my ground. A slap on the neck followed by an uncompromising "No." jerked her back into proper position. Still, she pushed her boundaries.
One day, having saddled and bridled her, we went for a short ride. I dismounted, and to my horror she reared up and threw me back with her front hooves. I grabbed the bridle, pulled her head to my level, and screamed, "Don't EVER do that again." I immediately remounted and we went for a longer ride. I couldn't help but notice; she no longer resisted my commands. I could keep the reins loose and direct her using only voice commands.
When it happened, it didn't feel sudden or abrupt. I didn't wake up enlightened, as in an epiphany. Rather, I approached my horse with a knowing acknowledgment that it had, indeed, happened. I gave her a carrot and she dipped her head. I scratched her great neck, ran my hands gently down her shoulder. She turned and nuzzled, her eyes soft and accepting. Ours was now a relationship based on mutual respect.
There was a time when she may have put up a half-hearted fight against the line. Now, she stood with calm docility. I brushed her, from shoulder to tail. She flicked her mane with mock impatience, and turned her head to watch. As I brushed I noticed that unique smell particular to the equine. It is primeval and comforting, as timeless and irreplicable as a lost childhood memory. I brushed her, savoring it all.
Next came the blanket, and then the saddle. I hoisted it skyward, placing the seat squarely on her backside. Her size impressed me. I reached beneath her belly for the girth, pulling it taut. There was a pleasant familiarity in the leather, in the way it bends, crackles, and holds.
I brought the bridle. Off came the halter, and she reached out with her lips, accepting the bit nicely. Two small buckles connected, and we were ready. I stood back to admire her, as I always do. She stood tall and lean, her strength evidenced by the muscles bulging delicately from her fine frame. Her body shone a golden chestnut hue, which tapered to black down her legs, ending abruptly in white around her hooves, as though someone had painted her, but ran out of color. With the brown and black tack girdling her body, she looked spectacular.
I circled her, checking the straps. This was a beast clearly designed and put on this earth for speed. And today, for the first time, we were to see what she had. I patted her soft, leathery muzzle and climbed up, "C'mon, Direct, let's go running."
I had picked out the perfect surface for our race. Nestled between two hills was a natural waterway, perfectly sculpted into a wide grass thoroughfare. It was wide, hard-packed, and a quarter-mile long. Loose on the reins, I steered Direct onto the track.
First, we walked. I wanted us both to be assured that there were no surprises. Of course it was perfect; you could land an airplane here. Next, we trotted. This was old territory. Her ears flitted around and she exhaled loudly. Direct was bored.
On the third circuit, we halted. I'd never galloped her before. I was actually nervous with anticipation - I could feel my heart pounding, that delicious taste of uncharted expectation in my mouth. I reached down and patted her neck. Without really thinking, I squeezed my heels into her ribs and let loose, "Hee-ya."
What happened next, can only be described as an outburst of pure, unbridled, raw energy. In the blink of an eye, Direct reared on her hind legs and leapt forward. The energy from her spring rocketed us ahead, and her front legs caught it. Her hooves pummeled into the earth, and threw it rearwards in a blur. I was thrown back, nearly lost my balance, and fiddled to regain composure.
I was shocked - her gallop was smooth, and I easily matched her movements. In fact, it felt quite natural. Within seconds we approached the end of the waterway. Subtle movements on the reins made a wide semicircle, and Direct reversed course without breaking gait. This time, I was ready.
She ate up the straightaway, her hooves pounding and sending the ground back with ferocious speed. My hat blew off, my eyes began to water, and I laughed. This wasn't intimidating; this was exhilarating. Leaning forward, I bobbed just above her outstretched neck. Her head hammered up and down, matching the pace set by her massively powerful hindquarters.
Two more circuits, and that was it. I dismounted, noticing only then how much of a workout my legs had gone through. I wobbled forward, facing Direct. We saw eye to eye. After all of the setbacks, hard work, and perseverance, it had boiled to this. Ours was now a relationship based on mutual respect.
It wasn't always so. In fact, it took a great deal of effort, and prophetic patience, to get to this point. My initial hesitance was a product of something primal; mainly, her imposing stature. I had to look up, to see eye to eye. Her neck craned heavenward, her eyes glared down, and I felt diminutive.
From her standpoint, I was green. I didn't treat her like previous handlers. I let her get away with misbehavior. She could act up, and she did, because I knew no better. Why should she respect me?
We started working together. I began to catch bad behavior, and correct it. When she cut her corners during lunge sessions and actually charged me, I held my ground. A slap on the neck followed by an uncompromising "No." jerked her back into proper position. Still, she pushed her boundaries.
One day, having saddled and bridled her, we went for a short ride. I dismounted, and to my horror she reared up and threw me back with her front hooves. I grabbed the bridle, pulled her head to my level, and screamed, "Don't EVER do that again." I immediately remounted and we went for a longer ride. I couldn't help but notice; she no longer resisted my commands. I could keep the reins loose and direct her using only voice commands.
When it happened, it didn't feel sudden or abrupt. I didn't wake up enlightened, as in an epiphany. Rather, I approached my horse with a knowing acknowledgment that it had, indeed, happened. I gave her a carrot and she dipped her head. I scratched her great neck, ran my hands gently down her shoulder. She turned and nuzzled, her eyes soft and accepting. Ours was now a relationship based on mutual respect.
There was a time when she may have put up a half-hearted fight against the line. Now, she stood with calm docility. I brushed her, from shoulder to tail. She flicked her mane with mock impatience, and turned her head to watch. As I brushed I noticed that unique smell particular to the equine. It is primeval and comforting, as timeless and irreplicable as a lost childhood memory. I brushed her, savoring it all.
Next came the blanket, and then the saddle. I hoisted it skyward, placing the seat squarely on her backside. Her size impressed me. I reached beneath her belly for the girth, pulling it taut. There was a pleasant familiarity in the leather, in the way it bends, crackles, and holds.
I brought the bridle. Off came the halter, and she reached out with her lips, accepting the bit nicely. Two small buckles connected, and we were ready. I stood back to admire her, as I always do. She stood tall and lean, her strength evidenced by the muscles bulging delicately from her fine frame. Her body shone a golden chestnut hue, which tapered to black down her legs, ending abruptly in white around her hooves, as though someone had painted her, but ran out of color. With the brown and black tack girdling her body, she looked spectacular.
I circled her, checking the straps. This was a beast clearly designed and put on this earth for speed. And today, for the first time, we were to see what she had. I patted her soft, leathery muzzle and climbed up, "C'mon, Direct, let's go running."
I had picked out the perfect surface for our race. Nestled between two hills was a natural waterway, perfectly sculpted into a wide grass thoroughfare. It was wide, hard-packed, and a quarter-mile long. Loose on the reins, I steered Direct onto the track.
First, we walked. I wanted us both to be assured that there were no surprises. Of course it was perfect; you could land an airplane here. Next, we trotted. This was old territory. Her ears flitted around and she exhaled loudly. Direct was bored.
On the third circuit, we halted. I'd never galloped her before. I was actually nervous with anticipation - I could feel my heart pounding, that delicious taste of uncharted expectation in my mouth. I reached down and patted her neck. Without really thinking, I squeezed my heels into her ribs and let loose, "Hee-ya."
What happened next, can only be described as an outburst of pure, unbridled, raw energy. In the blink of an eye, Direct reared on her hind legs and leapt forward. The energy from her spring rocketed us ahead, and her front legs caught it. Her hooves pummeled into the earth, and threw it rearwards in a blur. I was thrown back, nearly lost my balance, and fiddled to regain composure.
I was shocked - her gallop was smooth, and I easily matched her movements. In fact, it felt quite natural. Within seconds we approached the end of the waterway. Subtle movements on the reins made a wide semicircle, and Direct reversed course without breaking gait. This time, I was ready.
She ate up the straightaway, her hooves pounding and sending the ground back with ferocious speed. My hat blew off, my eyes began to water, and I laughed. This wasn't intimidating; this was exhilarating. Leaning forward, I bobbed just above her outstretched neck. Her head hammered up and down, matching the pace set by her massively powerful hindquarters.
Two more circuits, and that was it. I dismounted, noticing only then how much of a workout my legs had gone through. I wobbled forward, facing Direct. We saw eye to eye. After all of the setbacks, hard work, and perseverance, it had boiled to this. Ours was now a relationship based on mutual respect.
