My Writer's Cramp Pieces

One Morning

It was a lovely day, and then my horse began to talk. . .

One Morning

My dappled gray Arabian was kicking up her heels, prancing and dancing, and shying at each imagined shadow. The morning was brisk, and the sun was just starting its song, warming the air with the promise of a lovely day. One-handed, I shed my jacket and slung it onto the back of my saddle. I was just about to tie it on, when the sleeve of it brushed my mare. That was all it took to rouse her into a temper. She reared, took the bit, tucked her head, and sprang forward. I turned her sharply to the right. She snorted in contempt. Then she jerked roughly, tossed her head up and down a couple of times, all the time bucking and side-stepping. In the middle of her hip-hop, foxtrot, she managed to tug the reins loose. At that moment, it was either hold on and let her gallop, or taste the dirt.

I spoke softly to her as she bolted across a flat stretch of ground. One of my hands lay against her shoulder, soothing her with my touch. Her ears flickered back and forth. She was listening to my words, but she wasn’t yet interested in slowing. I threw myself down onto her shoulders, reached forward and grabbed. Tilting to the left, I finally caughtup the dangling rein. I repeated that on the other side. Then gathering up the two leather straps, I alerted the mare that I was back in charge. She still wasn't listening.

It was a good place to let her gallop, but I leaned back in the saddle, letting her know with my body position that it was time to ease up.

I’m sure my soothing would have slowed her in another minute, but the trees of a wood were coming up too quickly. The trail was narrowing. Ahead there was no place for a full-out gallop.

“Enough,” I told her firmly, sawing on her mouth with the bit and reins. “Stop this, or I’m not going to feed you for a month.”

Horses don’t really understand your words, but they respond to your tone of voice. Shasta tossed her head once more to show her independence, and then she halted, pawing the ground in irritation.

“It’s about time,” I said. “That was a ridiculous bolt. You know perfectly well that my jacket sleeve wasn’t about to hurt you. A rattlesnake is vastly different, you know. It rattles, for one thing.”

All that time, I was petting Shasta’s slightly damp shoulder. Her head was still hyper-active, and her dainty right hoof was digging holes in the dirt of the path, but she was obediently standing still.

“All right, walk on,” I told her. “But behave yourself.”

She pawed one more time, checked to see if I had a firm grip on the reins, and then she backed, heading for one of the tall oak trees on the left.

“Shasta, I’m warning you. Oats and molasses. Fresh carrots. Red, juicy apple? Remember?”

I’d appreciate it if you’d stop teasing me, a voice said from somewhere down in the dirt. I leaned over slightly to look. It had sounded like it was coming from underneath Shasta.

Of course, there was no one there.

Ha, Ha, Ha. Fooled you, didn’t I?

I glanced all around; then I urged Shasta over to the side, so I could check behind the oak. The place was deserted. Was I hallucinating? Did lack of coffee cause one to hear voices?

“I should have stopped at the drive-through on the way over. Boy, do I need a cup of Java,” I said out loud, still looking around for the mystery voice.

Yeah, you really should have stopped somewhere. I could’ve used another five minutes of shuteye. Why do you always have to wake me up so early? I haven’t even seen the sun yet. Are you sure it’s morning?

“This isn’t happening,” I said, shaking my head. “Horses don’t talk.”

Ha, Ha, Ha, real funny. I’ve been talking ever since I was born. What do you mean I can’t talk?

“You have? Human talk?”

Sit still, would ya. Your ankles are climbing, and I thought you were supposed to sit up straight in the saddle. Don’t you ever listen to your riding instructor?

I groaned, sat straighter, and pointed my heels down. I also dropped my elbows, positioned my hands better, and pushed my thighs into closer contact with the saddle.

“Well, did you always talk?” I continued, as I leaned slightly forward and loosened the tension on her reins. Accepting the cue, Shasta walked forward -- show ring perfect.

No, I didn’t get the hang of it until you started taking all those classes, she told me. But after all those instructors, and then the judges keep saying, ‘Walk on, trot, canter, or stop your horses, please’ about three hundred forty-four times, it’s kind of hard not to pick up the language. Besides, it’s the only way I can find out anything interesting.

“Interesting? Like what?” I said, tightening my grip in case she saw the squirrel scampering up a tree on the other side of the path.

Either Shasta ignored it, or she was too interested in our conversation to react. Sedate as an old babysitter horse, she walked on.

A blue jay scolded in the high branch of a tree as we passed. Its mate echoed its complaint. “Jay, jay,” it reproached me.

Another squirrel chattered, staring down at us from an upside down position, its tail swishing like a furry, writhing snake. A third jay flew overhead, adding its complaints, ordering us to leave the woods.

Shasta ignored the noise and the restless movements all around us, settling down nicely. Well,she said I learned about the new horse who’s moving into the stall next to mine. Summer Scape. Sounds like a dumb name to me. Can’t you humans ever call a horse -- Rover, or something?

“That’s a dog’s name,” I told her without thinking.

She snorted. I’d rather be a dog than a mountain. Why’d you have to name me Shasta? Do I have a hill on my back or something?


My dear Shasta -- once she started talking . . .

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~~~~I used to love riding into the woods -- the peace, the meditative contemplation.

Hey, you’ve gained another pound. Stop eating, why don’t you. And those heels . . .

~~~~~Sadly, I think in the future, my quiet rides will never be the same.

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1,000 words {/center]{/c]