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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