We’ve taken to our
new routine – short turn outs in the round pen, walks around the ranch, grazing
on luscious spring grasses, hanging hay nets to ward off boredom, and extended
grooming sessions. Ransom has managed to hold it together most of the time,
considering he’s a young, active horse who’s been cooped up in a stall for
three months and hasn’t been worked at all. But there are days when the gleam
in his eye warns that he’s a mass of muscle about to explode in frustration.
And that’s when we compromise with the roundpen – a small area with good
footing where he can get his kicks out – because I’m not handwalking that.
People at the
barn are always asking how Ransom’s doing. Like
everyday. I know they’re being nice, but that’s where I have to stuff down
my own frustration. No, there’s been no
change since yesterday. Or last week. Why thank you for constantly reminding me
that my horse is lame. That I can’t ride him. That his convalescence is taking
so long. It’s hard enough watching him lose muscle tone and thinking of how
much training we’re going to have to make-up. So I try to escape with as little
response as possible, “he’s the same.” And we keep on.
