There is no secret so close as that between a rider and his hors
e.
--
R.S. Surtees

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Day 1, Lesson 1: Horses Aren't Dogs


Okay, I know that sounds like a big “duh” moment for people who know horses, but for those of us who don’t, this is sorta how it went down:

Me (to pretty, chestnut horse): Hey, buddy, you’re one handsome fella! How y’all doing today? (reaches out to pet said horse)

Horse: Lady, you’re in my personal space.  Back off.

Me: Oh, I get it. You need to look me over, decide I’m okay, right? Want to sniff my hand?

Horse: No, I don’t.

Me: So, I’m supposed to groom you before we ride.  How about it, sweetie, you want to get groomed today? (Starts using the curry comb as instructed.) Okay, this is good stuff, you’re being such a good boy!

Horse:  Flattery will get you nowhere. Let’s just get it done.

And so began my first lesson, an hour-long chat session that must’ve exasperated my instructor and this beautiful horse who cared nothing for being fawned over like a puppy and everything about the leadership ability of the human on his back. Of that I demonstrated precious little.  Without Milk Bones in my pocket, I had no idea how to ask for what I wanted. And so we sat. And sat. And sat some more.

“Raise your energy!” my instructor called out to me.

“WooHoo!” I shouted internally. “Let’s ride!”

“Did you say something?” the horse seemed to reply as he twitched his ears ever so slightly. He shuffled his feet and hung his head. And so we sat awhile longer. The sky was a deep blue. I started noticing the shapes of the clouds drifting by.

“Walk.” My instructor finally commanded. The horse dutifully picked up his head and took a lumbering step forward; then another and another until we were halfway around the pen.  I murmured a steady stream of encouragement and sat taller in the saddle. I was riding at last.

After a few more laps punctuated by my effusive whispers of thanks and praise, the horse slowly walked to the center of the ring and stopped at an invisible taxi stand sign.

Horse: So, this is where you get off.

Me: Yep. Got it. Thanks for the ride.

I awkwardly dismounted, led the horse back to the paddock, and fished in my pockets. I had nothing to offer my new, non-canine friend to reward him for his time and attention.  Not that it mattered. The minute he was unloosed from his halter, he turned his big, beautiful butt to me and trotted off without a second look.

“Next time, bring some game.” I thought I heard him say.

I turned to my instructor. “I think he hates me.” I lamented.

“Nah,” she nonchalantly replied. “He just doesn’t respect you.”

I stood alone at the gate for an extra moment or two and contemplated the difference between my effortless relationship with my dogs (fellow predators), and this strange, new paradigm that required me to elicit trust and respect from an prey animal hard-wired to flee from the likes of me.

It would take more than sweet talk and liver bits. Just how much more, I had no idea….

Seeking from the saddle,
MidLife Rider

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