Ransom Therapy

The clouds threatened to rain as I drove home from a long day of giving  riding lessons. My feet ached and my mood slumped from eight hours of giving three year-olds glorified pony rides, teaching a girl who wouldn’t take me seriously, and avoiding ungracious boarders who resented sharing the arena. Part of me just wanted to go home and crash. After all, I was tired and hungry and it looked like rain. I could visit my horse tomorrow. But a little voice said that some Ransom therapy was just what I needed.

So when I reached the road leading to the ranch, I turned. I just needed to see him. Brush him. Love on him. Let the day melt away in his warm breath and soft coat. When his head came up and his ears pricked toward me, I smiled. And that’s when I realized it was the first time I’d smiled all day. Really smiled. Not a socially draining, covering up that I’m tired and unhappy kind of smile.

I did go home and crash afterwards. But it was with a spot of gladness.

Hoofprints in the Sand

I love being the first to ride in a freshly groomed arena. Initially, I cringe at marring the smooth expanse of sand lined with symmetrical patterns from the rototiller; it's the same feeling as when I take a chunk out of the perfect surface of a new jar of peanut butter. But then the first few minutes of riding become a work of art, tracking designs with Ransom’s hoof prints on a giant sand canvas.

The tracks help us make a perfect circle, or show how crooked our line down the rail was. Riding straight is more difficult than it seems. We crisscross the arena with serpentines and figure-eights. A turn on the haunches leaves a semi-circle cluster of prints.

The pasture horses stand on the knoll overlooking the arena, observing our performance with interest, while Jake, the big black tomcat, crouches in the tall grass. When we pass nearby, he looks up and joins the audience.

By the time I finish, the arena is muddled with designs. If I’m lucky, it will be only a few days until I have a fresh canvas.