Too Smart

"Am I square?"

The long-awaited riding instructor workshop and certification loomed in front of me as the weekend approached. As part of the test to certify, I had to ride a pattern. A few days before I left, I saddled Ransom up for a run-through. Before we headed for the arena, I took a few minutes to memorize it. Ransom watched me trot around the courtyard in front of the crossties with a sleepy look that sighed, “Humans. They’re so weird.”

Still, he humored me with some mounted practice. Afterwards, he stood so Alana could take some photos of my balance and alignment. When I dutifully produced my photos for an activity at the workshop a few days later, they of course drew comment on “the appy.” The instructor made a dismissive comment about the breed.

“So you’re not a fan of appaloosas?” I responded.

“I have Andalusians.”

“Ah, you like a horse with a mane.” We both laughed. Then she went on.

“Actually, appys are too smart for me. I like my horses to be a bit dumber.”

I could live with that. To each their own.

Met His Match

The gravel crunched beneath my wheels as I pulled slowly down the drive of the unfamiliar barn, Ransom in tow. This was the home of his new trail buddy, Ruger. The flashy copper chestnut with a blaze and white stockings hopped happily into the carpool, and Jamie climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. Together, we set off to explore new trails.

I’m selective about who I ride with these days. Either I’m calling the shots with less experienced riders, or I ride with friends I consider riding peers. Jamie is both a great rider and a good friend, and her mount for the day couldn’t have been a better match for Ransom. The two geldings are the same height, same age, and have the same eager, down-to-earth disposition.

We trotted side by side, matching strides down the wide meandering trail. Their ears pricked forward with the same sense of adventure we felt in discovering new territory, map stashed in my back pocket. Overhead, the sun played hide-and-seek between clouds and the canopy of trees. Bikers pedaled past and hikers scooted to the side, admiring our horses. This perfect match made for the best trail ride I’ve been on in a long time.

No Excuses

Ransom studying hard for the trail test

The summer has flown past, and it’s Ransom’s birthday again! I can’t believe he’s already six. Horses reach physical maturity in their fifth year; it’s a lot like turning eighteen – you’re officially an adult but still have a lot of growing to do. Now that he’s passed that landmark, I feel like my “he’s still a baby” excuse has expired.

The perfectionist in me didn’t realize how much I used Ransom’s age as a crutch to avoid responsibility for his training and behavior. “He’s not accepting the bit? Oh, he’s only three. His stop needs work? He’s just four.” Training actually has little to do with age. I’ve known twenty-two year old horses who were emotional wrecks, and three year olds who had a good mind. Young horses just haven’t had the time it takes for growth.

Ransom’s youth was my go-to justification when I was worried about what others thought about his behavior…and therefore me. Frankly, it’s uncomfortable to admit that Ransom’s progress depends on my skills and knowledge, even though I know a lot. The truth is: my experience is the limiting factor, not his. I fall into the trap of expecting to reach milestones at certain ages because I’m comparing myself to others.

Ransom and I will always be a work in progress, at our own pace. I don’t need any excuses to enjoy the journey. Year six will be the best yet!

(See also The Equine Identity  Feb 10 2013)