Munching Music

Ransom reached eagerly to graze along the side of the road as I led him out of his pasture. I usually let him munch for a few minutes every day. His nose swept back and forth to brush away the weeds, while his lips worked madly to sift the choicest grass and tear it off in quick bites. He was like a greedy child stuffing his mouth. I think he knew his time was at my whim, and he wanted to eat as much as possible before I tugged on the halter and dragged him away. There was a kind of rhythm as he grazed: rip, munch munch, swish, stomp; rip, munch munch, rip munch.

He made me think of a cartoon where the goat with exaggerated teeth plows through a field of tall grass to the sound effect of a mower’s engine, leaving a straight and even lawn. Ransom’s head came up only once when something caught his attention, and I grabbed my chance to pull him away and continue down to the barn.

Saving Up

I didn’t have a horse-print on the seat of my jeans when I slid off Ransom, thanks to his stylish new bareback pad. I’ve been waiting a long time to have my own horse to spend Christmas money on. I used to spend hours scouring horse supply catalogues, picking out all the things I would buy my horse, planning coordinating color schemes, and calculating costs.

When I was thirteen, Momma humored me and let me spend my hard earned allowance on a halter and lead rope from the local tack store. Never mind that I didn’t have a horse to use it on. I just thrilled in having it on hand, in case I needed to catch the lost horse that might wander onto our property.

When I was sixteen, my riding instructor gave me a bucket, sweat scraper, stiff brush, and two red hoofpicks for Christmas. Her favorite refrain was, “Sarah, when are you going to get a horse?” The lunge whip I won at a horseshow sat in my closet untouched, waiting for the day.

Every couple years when I sifted through my stuff, reducing my belongings and filling a donation bag, the horse equipment managed to make the cut, though narrowly. I wasn’t using it and it took up space. But I couldn’t bear to part with it. Somehow getting rid of the tools was like giving up the dream.

Finally I’ve been justified. The lunge whip has left its closet prison for a more useful life, and the hoofpicks are getting dirty like they ought. And I’m scouring horse catalogues, picking out all the things I want to buy for Ransom, planning coordinating color schemes, and calculating costs. And how long it will take to save up.

Unproductive on Purpose

Today’s ride was pleasurably aimless. Ransom and I started in the arena, and we lapped the ring before I even realized what happened. I couldn’t seem to focus. I wasn’t really in the mood to go to work so we headed out on the trail instead. Yet even that lacked purpose. I didn’t have enough time to complete the hour loop or actually go somewhere, so we sauntered halfway up the ridge, paused and enjoyed the scenery for a while, and then backtracked to the barn.

It’s easy for me to feel an obligation to be disciplined; the need to always be productive is a self-imposed burden. Even trail rides normally have a planned distance, route, and time frame. While I sat looking across the canyon, Ransom cocking a leg beneath me, I relished the fact that with my own horse, there’s no agenda. No paid training responsibility. No student to satisfy. I don’t have to have a reason for every action.

So we didn’t do any training today; we didn’t accomplish or improve anything – and it was okay! Even motivation needs a day off every once in a while.

January Cool Down

Ransom was sweating before I even saddled him up. It’s the first week of January and we haven’t seen rain in a month. Ransom’s wearing a winter coat that is confused by this dry spell. Today was so warm I soaked up the sun in a T-shirt as we worked in the arena. Our productive workout left Ransom’s shoulder and chest wet, the long hair curling with sweat.

These days, I spend as much time cooling him out as I do riding him. I’m tempted to clip his coat for this purpose, but I’d rather leave him fuzzy than have to blanket him every day. So instead we went for a long walk, Ransom trying to look dignified with a magenta cooler pulled up to his ears, steam rising through the fleece. But he was only adorable.