It was Punkin’s night for an outing and I wasn’t feeling it.
My head was hurting, my skin was covered in hives, my mood was low, my hand hurt and I really didn’t think I could find the strength in me to go out and enjoy my horse.
I asked myself if I needed to be a little more mentally flexible with my plan tonight and chose rest before rest was forced on me. There was a part of me that responded with disappointment, after all we haven't made it out on a Wednesday when we’ve ridden on a Monday yet.
Every week I end up with a headache on Wednesday when I have ridden on Monday. This has left me very concerned that it could be riding that is upsetting my overreacting migraine triggers.
Not wanting this to be true I was caught in deep turmoil, looking out the kitchen window. I saw Punkin.
Pasture is rationed very carefully at our house and is only a means of helping the horses maintain good mental health. This was one of her short daily allowances in her favorite pasture, but instead of running and bucking and snacking in the big field with her pony she was standing at the gate waiting for me.
I couldn’t let her down. I was used to letting myself down but I didn’t want her to get used to me letting her down.
It took a little longer than usual to make it out the door but I did it.
She was no longer standing in the spot by the window. My heart sank. She had given up on me, or so I thought.
I looked towards the pasture and there she was, her black mane glistening against her dark brown coat, staring at me ready for the night's adventure.
A mare's body changes just as much as a woman's body and I had promised her a saddle adjustment after noticing her back was a little sore at the end of our last ride.
I searched the saddle fitting box for shims that were precut. There was no way my hands were going to be able to cut and shape a set of shims tonight.
To my dismay there was nothing cut so I turned to the bag of off cut felt I had been saving and found a matching set of scraps to shove between the tree and the stuffing of the beat up old English saddle that was wide enough for my tank of a horse and easy enough on my hands.
It wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t pretty or very comfortable for me but as long as I could get it on without injuring myself and it didn’t hurt my horse I was happy.
I hadn’t planned on riding tonight but I rode anyway. It seemed like a good idea and while I still felt like garbage I would rather feel like garbage and ride my horse than feel like garbage and do anything else.
Punkin has been a fantasy of mine since I was about 13 years old or younger. The idea of raising a horse from a foal and being her person from the time she was born has been one of my biggest dreams.
So many times my health has dragged me to the brink of surrender but the thought of giving up on that bond that had Punkin waiting for me at the gate, and not living my childhood fantasy gives me the strength to push through the challenges that life throws at me every day.
I shoved the felt into the saddle and hoped that it would work until my hands were good enough to make a proper set of shims.
As always I lunged at her first and to my surprise there wasn’t much fuss at all. She was for better lack of a word, chill.
Not sure if this was the saddle or the fact that we had been consistent in our work but there we were walking on the lunge line like a not so green horse. At first I didn’t want to believe it and I waited for the Andalusian sass and attitude to come out to play like it normally does.
Nothing.
Hesitantly I led her to the mounting block and got on.
Our ride was a peaceful one. While I could still feel the dragon within her she was just a little more at ease today. Or maybe at ease is the wrong way to describe it. Is there a word in the English language for the feeling of a green horse becoming a little less green?
If there is then it’s not one I know nor one I have ever heard, and before today I don’t think it’s something I have ever felt. At least not in such a way that was as subtle as the gentle caress of a zephyr on a summer's day.
Maybe I’m more observant now that I was the rest of the horses I’ve ridden over the years, or maybe the connection with Punkin is just that much deeper.
I believe there’s a special bond that happens when you get to love your stead from the moment of conception. It’s a rare and magical connection that not many people get the privilege to experience in their lifetime.
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