Rushing vs. Ransom

I was supposed to be at work. Instead, I sat on the mounting block, eating lunch and watching Ransom wander around the round pen.

Until 8 AM this morning, the plan was to take the mini horses on their monthly trip to visit the elementary school. Instead, the threat of rain led to a flurry of phone calls to volunteers to notify them that we were cancelling the trip. My heart sank every time a call went through to voicemail. What if they didn’t get the message in time? I felt pressured by the time crunch.

Today was the end of a whole week of feeling rushed -- perhaps more than the circumstances warranted -- but rushed all the same. Places to be, details to do, all eating up time so quickly I couldn’t catch up.

Ransom angled his head to slide it between the panels of the fence and stretch his nose towards me. Towards my lunch actually. My mind stopped rushing to all the things I needed to get done at work before the end of the day. Instead I thought, how do animals manage to be so cute when begging for food? I had no apple core to give him, so I offered up a frito corn chip. He lipped up the salty morsel and came back for more, ears pricked in anticipation.

Deep breath. I needed to be back at work in half an hour. But in this moment, with Ransom, I could just be.

Fine Tuning

One of my teaching mantras is "Every horse will teach you something new or different."

After a four year break, I recently started taking riding lessons again - a perk of my job. Though the concepts are familiar, I'm always learning, and in this case, gaining practice on technique and application. Whenever I ride other horses, at other places, I'm more motivated to come back and work with Ransom.

My lesson mount for this week was a big palomino named Sunny. Initially, he pulled against my rein pressure as we trotted a circle, but then he softened and yielded his nose, bending his neck. As I brought him down to a walk, I thought, "I can't wait to work on this with Ransom."

I stopped by my barn on the way home, despite the fading light of the evening. With the lesson still fresh in my head, I hopped on. Ransom responded beautifully. I felt strong and he felt light. He moved off my leg, floated through a canter, and softened to my touch on the reins. The small changes in my technique made a difference. We were more productive in twenty minutes than we'd been all week.

I've gained valuable experience from riding lots of different horses. But sometimes it takes a horse of your own to learn what fine-tuning feels like.

Bronco

My friend stood outside the fence as I led Ransom into the round pen. I had decided it would be a good idea to evaluate his frame of mind before she rode. This turned out to be a wise decision. As I picked up the long whip, Ransom put his head between his legs and launched himself into the air, bouncing around the pen like a rodeo bronco for several laps.

The only time he’d done this in the last year was the day I offered to let my mom take a ride around the arena. After he put on a similar crow-hopping show in the round pen, I vetoed that plan. It was like he knew someone was watching. Why did he only do this when I planned to put a beginner on him?

I knew he’d settle down quickly today, but I wondered what my friend thought about this crazy creature I was going to put her on. When people told me, “He’s not usually like this!” my mental response was usually, “yeah, right.” I wouldn’t blame her if she thought the same.

Fortunately, by the time I positioned Ransom next to the mounting block, he was his sane self again. My friend was brave, and with little comment on Ransom’s previous display of energy, threw a leg over his back. The bronco was gone, leaving only a gelding on his best behavior.

Mr. Clean

“How does he stay so clean?” My friend asked as she walked by where I was grooming Ransom in the barn aisle way. I flicked some specks of dirt off with a soft brush and smiled. She was the third person this week to ask me the same question.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Even after a roll in the sand a few days ago, his coat was sleek. No manure stains marred the white blanket pattern over his rump, and no dust clouded the air when I patted him. Despite his nice hygiene habits, I’d been waiting for a warm day to give him a bath – his first bath since I bought him over a year ago. I’d hosed him off after sweaty rides, but never shampooed and scrubbed.

Finally a hot day arrived. Ransom danced around in the cross ties as the cold stream of water splashed his legs, and he clamped his tail when I soaked his back. The brown suds revealed that he wasn’t as clean as he looked. I used a rag for his face, but he still tossed his nose in the air and scrunched his nostrils in his best attempt to evade the wipe-down. I could feel the water dripping down my arm as I struggled to reach him.

After scraping the excess water out of his coat, I stepped back to admire my handiwork as he dried. His coat shimmered. A spritz of show sheen and he was as soft as a baby. Now he truly deserved the title, “Mr. Clean.”

Happy Birthday, Ransom!

Ransom turned five years old this month. Unfortunately, I don’t know his exact birthday, only that he was born in August of 2007. In the horse world, turning five makes him officially an adult. However, much like an eighteen year old person, he’s physically mature but still has a lot of life lessons to learn.

Earlier this month some of my best friends visited, and I took them to the barn to see Ransom. When their son asked about Ransom, my friend responded, “God designed Ransom for Sarah. He knew exactly what she wanted and made this horse just for her. Isn’t God cool?”

Ransom was entering the world about the same time I was going off to my senior year of college. Who knew that as I was buying textbooks, going to class, and working with colts at the campus horse facility, somewhere there was a spindly, spotted colt exploring his new world and waiting to meet me? I was sure waiting to meet him!

I’m so glad Ransom and I get to share the prime of our life together. God is cool.

Off the Clock

I haven't had as much time for Ransom this summer (that is, if you count going to the barn only four days a week instead of seven). Between starting a second part-time job, going on family vacation, and having my sisters home for a few short weeks, Ransom moved down a few notches on the priority list.

My life has been one big to-do list, and since I work hourly, I'm constantly thinking of the time. Visiting Ransom in the evenings after a day of work, it was difficult to let go of this mentality. I found myself looking at my watch every five minutes. What? I'd only been riding 15 minutes? I should ride at least 25. And that's where the obligation crept in. How did I fall into counting the minutes until I finished? It wasn't that I didn't enjoy being with him. I felt guilty for wanting to go home and unwind instead, and I felt guilty for not putting more time and effort into Ransom.

I decided that, when possible, the barn would be my "watch-free" zone. When I pulled out my grooming box, the watch went in my pocket. I instinctively glanced at my wrist several times, only to find it bare. Free from the constraints of time, Ransom and I puttzed around the arena, doing as we pleased for as long or short as I felt like. My internal feelings of obligation and the to-dos of tomorrow settled in the dust Ransom kicked up at the trot.

After putting him away, I slid into my truck, where the digital clock glowed bright numbers. I was back on the clock.

Matching Manes

Ransom and I both got our hair cut this week. I’d always worn my hair long, and this new summer chop to just below the shoulders was the shortest I’d ever gone. My long, brown ponytail was one of the reasons strangers sometimes commented that I “looked like a horse person.”

The scraggly ends of Ransom’s appaloosa mane were also looking unkempt. Cutting a horse’s mane is an unspoken taboo in the horse world, since the straight-cut look is stark and unnatural. The method of choice is to “pull” the mane by wrapping long hairs around a comb and ripping them out. I doubted Ransom would have any mane left if I pulled it.

A fellow boarder had a solution – a comb-like razor that trimmed the ends without leaving a scissored look. In less than two minutes she tidied up his thin fringe. The manes were tamed.