What She Did Next

I knew I was jinxing myself when I said that my Fell Pony mare Willowtrail Wild Rose’s preferred acts of disapproval didn’t include bucking, bolting, or rearing.  She is an equine after all, not an automobile, so certainly at some point there would be something that would set her off.  Even Mya the Wonder Pony, who was stellar in so very many ways, once bucked me off!

But it was what Rose did next that spoke volumes.  The morning after, when she first saw me, instead of walking by while I was holding open the gate, she stopped to check in with me.  Then a little while later she was nearly perfect on our ride, including during a desensitization session that for the few prior days had been challenging for her.

The day before, we had gone out on our ride down the ranch lane as usual, but the calves hadn’t been fed.  And since the last time we’d ridden before feeding time, the population of the pasture had grown noticeably.  Nonetheless Rose did very well until we got to a section of a trail we hadn’t ridden before.  Calves were below us but out of sight behind brush, making noise as they broke twigs or crunched through ice.  I dismounted to walk the new section, allowing Rose to experience the newness without the added stress of me on her back.  She was on high alert until we returned to familiar ground, at which time I remounted.  I could tell she was still a little strung out, but we continued safely back to whence we’d come.  As we had been doing, we trotted the section on the ranch lane along the calf pasture.  I let her get going a little faster than I should have for the conditions, and when I asked her to reduce her speed, I lost a stirrup.

As all equestrians eventually learn, things can happen in an instant.  I lost a stirrup.  It flipped up and backward, hitting Rose in her flank.  Rose twisted and kicked up at it, and I went off.  As soon as I was able, I got onto my feet, taking a few deep breaths to will my body to be just fine.  I then realized that Rose was standing where she had been when I came off, watching me.  Then she came quietly to me, allowing me to lean on her as I recovered my composure.  I was overwhelmed at this gesture.  She didn’t run all the way back to the barn or anywhere else.  She stayed with me and offered what help she could.  Eventually I mounted and we rode the remaining distance to the barn, and I was thankful I didn’t have to walk on my wobbly legs.

I of course take full responsibility for this incident.  In the course of Rose’s training I did what I do with all my ponies, let them walk then trot on-line with the stirrups dangling and flailing around because at some time in their life they’re going to need to know that that situation isn’t an indication of the world coming to an end.  But as my colleague the master horseman Doc Hammill said when I told him this story, I didn’t do that desensitization work in the full context of that day.  Nonetheless, what Rose did next was what mattered most to me.  It was feedback that I had prepared her reasonably well.  What she did next was to stay with me and offer the help that she could.  For that I am truly grateful.

© Jenifer Morrissey, 2020

There are more stories like this one in my book What an Honor, available internationally by clicking here or on the book cover.