A Horse is a Horse Of Course

In fifth grade, I wanted to be a horse.

I had a book with photographs of horses that I kept on the bottom shelf of the bookcase in our family room, and frequently I pulled the book out to study. I spent my free time rapturously drawing pictures of the horses from the book, culminating in a glorious day when I discovered the trick to drawing a more realistic horse was to put the leg muscles in.

As I had never been on a horse, I harbored no fantasies of becoming a jockey or circus performer. Clearly, becoming a horse was a more attainable goal. As I grew up and realized the truth, I put most of my horse dreams aside. But deep inside, I still remembered the thrill of looking at the horse pictures and my firm conviction that horses and I were meant to be together.

It wasn�t until the summer that cousin Jessica came to visit that I finally got on a horse. During her visit the previous year, I�d taken her to the Museum of Science (where she fell asleep during the IMAX movie) and then to the Planetarium show (where she fell asleep again, amidst screaming schoolchildren). This year I wanted an activity that she couldn�t possibly sleep through, and I picked horseback riding.

When we reached the farm, the smell was the first thing that hit me. Horse smell seemed to encompass a startling mixture of poop and wet grass, and my nose didn�t like it. And my feet weren�t too crazy about walking through the poop, either. Apparently horses just pooped willy-nilly, unlike my clean chihuahuas at home, who very carefully had to sniff and circle and wander and sniff and find just the right spot to deposit their tootsie rolls. And while they might eat their poop occasionally, at least they never walked in it.

Bright Eyes was selected to be my steed for the next hour, although how anyone could tell she had bright eyes was beyond me, since all horses for beginner riders came oddly swathed in blue face masks that prevented them from seeing anything.

�You pull toward the left to make her go left,� said the stable girl, putting the reins in my hands and demonstrating. �Right to go right, back to stop, and leave the reins loose to go forward.�

I gripped the saddle horn nervously in my hands, and dropped the reins. Bright Eyes plodded forward, and I aimed for the group of horses waiting by the water trough. All three of the horses and riders in front of me, including Jessica, were neatly lined up diagonally to the trough.

I steered Bright Eyes toward the last position in line. We were doing well until she decided she wanted a drink of water. The trough closest to us was empty, and so Bright Eyes took it upon herself to sidestep the horse in front of her, walk over to the next water trough, and wedge herself (and my leg) between two horses so she could drink.

She drank. And drank. And drank some more, while the rest of the riders began to walk forward. Eventually she decided she was done and followed the horse in front of her, only to stop a few feet away and begin grazing on the grass.

�Don�t let her eat,� warned the stable girl. I pulled at the reins, and Bright Eyes pulled her head up. Not because she was obeying me, but because she already had a sizeable chunk of grass in her mouth.

As we set off, a tiny white dog bounded out with us, favoring one of his back legs. Evidently he was going to walk with us, and I envied him his carefree, horse-less locomotion.

Bright Eyes kept tossing her head angrily in the air, and I figured she wasn�t pleased with my leadership. Then I noticed that flies kept swarming around her head, and she needed to move her head to drive them temporarily away. I wasn�t sure what the flies found so attractive about her, because I didn�t find her attractive at all.

As if she�d heard me, Bright Eyes walked under a branch that hit me in the chest.

By then, I had stopped marveling at the newness of being on a horse, and started to feel like I was camping, what with all the trees, bugs, and dirt. And I hated camping.

The rain hit us about 2 minutes into the ride. I had a hood on my jacket, but apparently my jacket hadn�t been designed for a downpour. Water sluiced down the hood and around the side of my face and down my neck, and I could feel the water starting to seep through the arms of the jacket. My jeans, meanwhile, were soaked completely through on the front of my legs.

We weren�t so much riding as slogging through mud and manure, and I almost felt sorry for Bright Eyes until I realized that to her, this wasn�t work at all. This was merely her dinner hour.

Despite the constant entreaties of the stable girls, I found myself at a loss as to how to prevent Bright Eyes from mauling the landscape. No amount of pulling back on the reins could deter her, and she snatched leaves above her and grass below her with equal enjoyment. Meanwhile, the gimpy-legged dog was happily racing through mud puddles, and occasionally stopping to look back at me as if wondering what was taking me so long.

The only excitement occurred when the horse in front of me suddenly stopped. That horse had behaved quite well up until this moment, staying on the path and marching ably up and down hills. I had even caught myself eying its legs and wondering if it could support two riders if Bright Eyes bolted without me.

So the sudden standstill was a surprise, as was the stream of urine that poured out of it a moment later.

Being used to chihuahua-sized tinkles, I was taken aback by the sheer force and volume that exited the horse, but Bright Eyes took it all in stride, detouring around the peeing horse, and plodding matter-of-factly forward.

Now I was in second position, not including the stable girls leading the way, and Bright Eyes seemed to feel this meant she deserved a bit of a snack. She paused to munch on a branch; her jaws moving methodically as she contemplated whether she was ready for a dessert of my water-soaked ankle. As much as I wanted to give her a quick nudge with my heels, I was afraid of the stable girl yelling at me. And okay, I was pretty sure that Bright Eyes wouldn�t be too happy with me either.

Before I could make up my mind what to do, Bright Eyes decided she could walk and eat at the same time, and pulled forward. Now I could see Cousin Jessica�s back, and her back did not look happy.

Jessica wore a denim jacket without a hood, and her head was bent low over her horse�s neck. Her long hair clung damply to her back, and I could see streams of water flowing from the top of her head, down her hair, and along her back. As she moved her head slightly, I caught sight of a small, hair-shaped patch of dry shirt along her back. Her light khakis were completely soaked.

I pulled up next to her and shouted, �Jess! What do you think of the horseback riding?� I peered out of my hood and around the water lining my face.

She glanced quickly at me, then down at her saddle horn again, to prevent the rain from hitting her face directly. Never one to criticize, she gave her usual response to any question asking for an opinion.

�Umm,� she said, �it�s okay.�

By now we had reached the end of the trip. We slowly dismounted, and hobbled over to my car. Jessica�s pants were stained red along her legs where the water and saddle had combined to form an impenetrable dye.

�You don�t have to pretend to like it,� I assured her. �I thought it totally sucked.�

She climbed into the car, squeakily.

I turned on the heat and started driving.

�Well,� she said, �It was kind of wet.�

�Yeah, I wish they had just cancelled the ride. So you think you still want to go to horseback riding camp next summer?� I asked.

She shifted her feet, and wiped her glasses on her damp shirt.

�I don�t mind if I don�t go,� she told the glove compartment.

And for Cousin Jessica, that pretty much meant it sucked.

Posted by: Supersonic Jane | January 28, 2004 | 11:38 am
Posted in: This Life