Learning to Listen

     You know that feeling when something goes awry and you KNEW moments before what you should do, but you didn't? I do, too. Too many times. 

     It's why I suffered an injury my first day of horse camp in Hungerford on August 13th. I KNEW shortly into the ride I needed to adjust tack, but I brushed my inner warning aside. At the top of a hill I thought, "Get down. Fix the bridle," but there was another group, so I told myself I'd take care of it at the next open area. Bad. Choice. It resulted in the early ending of what was supposed to be a week of riding with two amazing friends and led to weeks of recuperating until I was able to get back in the saddle.

     On April 25th, 2021 I brought home my little red Mustang, Cinderella. She's 11, but wasn't gentled or even really handled by people until last fall when Naomi Rutter chose her for Reality's Chance Rescue & Sanctuary Mustang Challenge. Cinder and Naomi won, and Cinder went north...way north... for more time with Naomi until I discovered her and brought her home.

     Cinder was started properly. She'd even been used by a couple of Naomi's students for lessons. She was, however, incredibly green on trails...like, never been on them green! I took her out twice and then our third trail ride was down in Shawnee National Forest out of High Knob Campground for a week. My little mare showed me heart, soul, and a solid brain during rides I still find surreal when I remember them. Challenging terrain. Mud...clay based, leg sucking, snot slick muck up to Cinder's knees mud! Firsts happened every day on multiple occasions. Cinder managed like a champ.

     Still, she's green; and smart. I'd been ignoring my instincts, letting things slide, settling for 'good enough'. See, Cinder truly is my once in a lifetime forever horse. She waits for me, comes to me, and seeks me out for reassurance. It's the relationship I have missed with a horse for many years, and instead of doing what I knew (ignore those waving flags much) I should, I let things go, perhaps worrying subconsciously that pushing might damage our budding relationship.

     Dumb. I know better. In my head I could hear my old mentor, Peter Campbell, shaking his head and tisking at me. Recently, I spent time with Naomi at her farm for guidance. From moment one, Naomi called me out on things I let slide, things I KNEW as they were happening that I should be fixing. Naomi called me out. She held me accountable about not holding Cinder accountable. Little things that add up were causing me to do less by my horse rather than what was needed. I left her beautiful farm feeling hopeful and excited, anxious to continue my learning journey with my Mustang.

     All of this led to yesterday's ride. Cinder and I met the same two friends and horses we'd last trail ridden with in Hungerford. I'd dealt with my tack issues, gotten my slackadaisical (yes, I made up a word to fit the situation) attitude adjusted, and even ridden in home pastures successfully. "Quit being such a baby about it, and be the leader your horse needs," I reminded myself internally.

     Yesterday was beautiful, though a bit chilly; blue skies filled with large puffy white clouds. Windy, windy windy in trails populated with trees that creaked and groaned, squeaking and squawking in the upper branches in eerie song. We rode through rows of pines, over the bridge nearly met beneath with the rushing waters of the river, and came across other horses and orange clad hikers with guns. 

     Cinder has never before been bothered on the trails. Five days of riding in mountainous terrain and she never jigged, never refused, never acted afraid. Yesterday, she was bothered. Joined by another friend, four horses moved away from Pinckney staging area into the wooded trails. I'd done my 'anti-anxiety' bending and flexing before we left, and she was good; but, a few minutes into the ride I felt her nervous energy through my seat and legs. 

     My head was telling me she needed support, circles, re-centering guidance; and this time, I listened. Cinder settled a bit and we continued. This happened numerous times, and though she would be okay for a few minutes, it never went away. As we came to the intersection of trails, I asked to head back to the staging area. My husband had called, and honestly, I was relieved to have an excuse. I tied her to the trailer and sat to eat my pb&j with my friends, keeping an eye on Cinder.

     A few minutes later, she started to fold onto her knees to roll WHILE TIED TO THE TRAILER and still tacked up! Quickly I intervened, shortened her lead, and returned to my sandwich. She was prancing and fidgety, and a few minutes later I decided it was better to untack. 

     I walked to her and stroked her face, asking her what was up. Cinder dropped her head to my chest, and released a sigh from deep inside. I felt her change. I felt her tension dissipate, her muscles finally relaxing fully for the first time since the beginning part of our hour and a half ride. Instantly, she began licking and chewing, yawning away her stress.

     If you own a horse, you probably understand how I felt in those minutes. I was gifted with the trust of a Mustang, and in my presence she felt supported and calmed because I was with her. I stayed with her until I knew she was solid, and returned to my friends. They'd witnessed the change, commented on it, and I haven't stopped smiling about it since. 

     I listened to my gut/inner voice/red flag and reaped the benefits. If I'd ignored the feeling, I know yesterday's ride would have ended quite differently. I won, because I listened. Cinder won, because I listened. 

     I learned to trust myself and act accordingly. Way past due, I'd say, as I am now closer to 100 than to 0. Don't wait as long as I did, my lovely readers. 

     You know you better than anyone. Take your heart to heart, and live like no one's watching. Live like a Mustang trusts you to be there for her. Live with confidence, more joy than you can contain, and ready to love all the little miracles.