What a Ride

I had not intended to ride, although every fiber of my being wanted to climb on her back and ride like we stole the wind. My body was craving the feeling of that connection, and the thrill of the raw power between my legs. It had been three torturous months since our last ride and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out.
I would like to report that it was another beautiful day, but I would be lying. In fact, it was a mediocre day doused in a drizzle of season gloom. Gray clouds hid patches of blue sky that teased us from behind their uninviting presence. The wind wasn’t too bad, and there was no rain.
Punkin Pie, being fresh as a farmer’s fart, was a little too spunky for me to get on. She needed to at least be lunged first. Our arena, however, is currently home to a backhoe. The machine I plan on using later this year to build something closer to my dream arena. A worthy sacrifice, but still annoying.
Still set on trying to keep my feet on the ground, I had planned a good workout. We would explore various places in town where the ground might be firm enough to host a 1200 lb explosion of energy. Knowing Punky was feeling as pent up as I was, I packed her cooler. Walking her out properly without the arena is nearly as annoying as warming her up without it. I thought packing the cooler with me was a brilliant idea. The Western saddle would have been more appropriate for this purpose. It was still in pieces from the last time I took it apart, something I hope to remedy before attempting to bring the cooler again. For now, the English saddle was going to have to do.
I looked for the rings in the back. They were missing. They must have been on my last saddle. Was I going to let that stop me? Nope.
I pulled 2 pieces of twine from the stash I had been hoarding. There were now only a few strands of precious orange string left. I might need to ask my sister for another care package if I can’t conserve what little I have left.
Wrapping the twine around the brand-new cooler like a bedroll in the old Western movies, I prepped it for our trip to town. The smooth layer of horse coat-friendly fabric on the interior created an unusual slip that made it difficult to roll, but I found a way, I thought, to attach it to the saddle using the rings on the saddle intended for a breast collar. I would be on the ground so it would be easy enough for us to stop and make adjustments. With everything snuggly in place we headed off looking for a location to get our workout.
Anywhere else it would be easy to find a spot to do a few circles. There are ample green spaces we have access to in our publicly shared areas, but the ground in Port Clements is unfortunately soft, making it much more difficult than it should be to find a suitable place to work out a 1200lb animal with the attitude of a wild dragon.
Most of the green spaces along Bayview Drive we’ve ruled out over the years. We have learned the hard way that they were not appropriate to meet our needs, especially in the spring when the ground is soft. Determined not to make too big of a mess in town or lose my horse in the bog that hides under the illusion of turf, we skipped right past those and headed for the park.
Along the way, we came across what I thought would be a perfect space. I asked her for a few circles, with a nice quiet demeanor, hoping that’s what she would give me in return. What I received instead were many circles with an aerial display of defiant freedom and a lot more energy than I had asked for. The ground was holding up well and didn’t seem to be too slick. The cooler, however, continued to slip forcing us to pause the dramatic display and readjust more than once.
Her daring display of aerial art had become more assertive. Hoping to sweat out her inner dragon, I started slowly moving closer to the hill for some tougher exertion. That’s when it happened. We found the soft ground. Her back legs sunk deep into the marshy landscape. 
Horrified, I watched as mud flung from her limbs. She continued her forward fits of passion as if the deep mud of the underlying bog were made of air. The muck only added fuel to the fire of her dragon. She snorted and turned towards me, raising her mighty torso on both hind legs. I laughed at her and continued to ask for circles. The ground beneath us, beautiful and green only moments before, was now a pool of black debris. I wanted to stop for the sake of her legs and the public space we were working in, but if I backed away from a rear this would become a thing. Not wanting to spend the summer working on fixing a new naughty behavior, we pushed on trying to avoid the soft ground, but the more she moved, the softer it got. 
We made it to the top of the hill when I finally stopped her right next to the park bench. My foot stepped onto the solid wood plank seat as my common sense fled the scene. I asked her to move towards me. She stepped towards me. I fixed the cooler that had slid down her side and lifted my leg to slide it over her back. She stepped away. I asked her to move towards me again. She brought her back over. I scratched her neck and told her what a good girl she was, then lifted my leg. She moved away again. This time, I asked for a small circle around the bench. She was good and walked quietly all the way around, then over to where I stood. More scratches were delivered.
The temptation to jump on and ride the horse I landed on flashed through me. My common sense returned, and we went in search of firmer ground for some more lunging.
We continued to climb up the path until it spat us out in the upper parking lot of the local park. The footing was a sandy mixture of gravel and clay, firm, but not too firm. It was large enough for a proper arena workout and, better yet, empty.
This was the first time in our 10 years together that I felt it was appropriate for her to properly work a circle. There was enough room to make them large enough not to strain her recently matured joints. The ground wasn’t slick or trying to swallow us whole. It was the perfect place for a proper workout.
We circumnavigated the expanse of the makeshift public arena until she turned to face me with ‘the look’. The one that says “Please stop making me do boring circles, I’m ready to do anything but.”
I led her over to the concrete barricade that lined the edges of the parking lot and asked if I could get on. She stepped calmly towards me and stood still, waiting for my leg. Cautiously, I lifted my foot over her back and slid into the saddle.
Punkin started walking towards home as I awkwardly fumbled with the stirrups. I asked for a whoa and discovered that the cooler had again slipped. The string was now running under the saddle with my weight on top of it. I’m not sure if I refused to get off and fix it because I’m lazy or just stubborn.
Determined to make the cooler not only comfortable but safe, I continued to untie the strings with one hand and reminded my hot mare to stand with the other. In an awkward tangle of effort, I finally freed the sheet which was now sliding through my arms.
Its slick interior designed for the health of the horse’s coat made it rather challenging to fold while mounted. So I rolled it into a ball and tucked it under my arm.
Thankfully, Punky is fairly light in the hands. Her forward momentum was full of enthusiasm, to say the least. I allowed her to move homewards as fast as she wanted as long as she walked, a little trick I learned for refining the TWH running walk. This is a gait that I enjoy, but not one she uses naturally. Unable to sustain it for long periods, it gives her an outlet for the excitement of heading back home and lets us work on something without her knowing we’re working on it.
The street lights lit our way home as we continued to walk at various paces. Once we were close, I asked her to turn into the pullover near the house. She was dripping with sweat and would need to be walked out. The cooler, although annoying, was now a blessing.
As per the street light agreement with my husband, I called home to report that I was not dead and would be in long after dark. Punkin and I casually walked the ditches under the orange glow of the lights, enjoying some well-deserved silence. She snacked while I dreamed of the summer to come. If all our rides were as good as this one, we’re in for a wonderful year.