Ain't Much of a Horse
By Jean Rowell, Hattiesburg, MS Wild Horse Adopter
Now that we've had this mustang in our lives for over two years, and are over the "ooooh" and "awe" of mustang ownership, I have to admit, she just ain't much of a horse.
There she stands in the pasture, nose to the horizon, tuning into who knows what, while the other horses are all about getting our attention to the fact that it is dinner time. Even though we have put several hundred pounds on her, she still has a blade-thin chest. If she stands hip-shot just a certain way, those hipbones poke out so you would swear we are starving her. Nothing like my AQHA mare, who is bulldog built and brings to mind the song "Brickhouse." We did not choose her for color; she is just an ol' bay with some white on her feet and a couple of ink-drops of black around her hooves. Nothing like our APHA medicine-hat paint with his stunning markings. Her mane appears to have been roached to apply the freeze-brand, as it is long behind her ears and long at her withers, but it has never grown out along the neck, due to her constantly sticking her head through our barbed wire for grazing. She self-trims that mid-part in a most aggravating way, and I probably should just cut the whole thing.
I brought her to my trainer friend after 18 months of "gentling and bonding." Way, way too long according to most of my horsey (non-mustang) friends. I took my time on the ground work and did a little riding time and training on my own, but wanted someone a little more saddle-wise than me to carry on her riding experience. He, being used to starting AQHA colts and readying them for the cutting trainer or the reining trainer, really did not know how to talk to me that first week he had her. He tried to be gentle. "Ah," he began, "Well, she has been calmer than I thought she would." Long pause. "Um, she really doesn't seem to have, uh, much, uh, what I would call, eh, athletic ability." To make a long story short, she would freeze, and get tangled up in her own feet. Well, six months and many trail rides later, she still has a tendency to cross her feet, and this ain't for sidepassing either. She will never be a dancer.
Two years into it, and a fairly decent trainer to boot, and she still has her moments. All of a sudden refuses to be led through the barn. Winces at me (Moi! Her best pal and most trusted human!) simply because I have a plate of food in my hand. Sulls up and refuses to load after many, many good loading experiences. Trips over her own feet. Who knows what is going to happen tomorrow when the vet comes to pull blood for a coggins test?
So, all in all, I'm sitting here squinching up my face, shaking my head from side to side, thinking, well, this ain't much of a horse! If we had known more before we went to adopt . . . if we had done more mustang research . . . if we had not had "adopter tunnel vision" that day . . . .if we had gone for color or conformation rather than searching for the "right" look in the eye . . .
But wait a minute! This is the horse, who, while still wild and untouchable, heaved a heavy sigh and laid her jaw dead into the palm of my hand on one glorious mustang-bonding morning. This is the horse,
who could not be touched by the farrier, but who let me pick up all four feet, sans halter, out in the middle of the pasture at sunset one day.
This is the horse, who, on the third day we had her, followed a three year old child around and took carrots out of his hand, as gentle as could be. This is the horse who never bolted or snorted the first time at all of our dogs. This is the horse who stood over me, after I hit the ground through no fault of her own, with the most curious look on her face. This is the horse who has overcome more fear than any domestic horse we have ever known, and just gotten better and better.
This horse. This horse. This is the horse who tuned into my soul. This is the horse who taught me more about my own "horse abilities" than any other horse I have ever had.
This is the horse that taught me to think outside of myself. This is the horse who has convinced an entire neighborhood that "this could be done." And this is the horse that I will be riding for many years to
come.
Clumsy feet, thin chest, sully moments, ugly hipbones, and all.
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