"You must in all Airs follow the strength, spirit and disposition of the horse, and do nothing against nature; for art is but to set nature in order, and nothing else." – William Cavendish, 1st Duke of Newcastle

Sometimes, you meet a horse that is special. I have known a lot of horses, but this one, he changed my heart.

He was one of the best horses I ever sat upon. Every ride with him, I learned something new. He trusted me with his power and honestly, the feeling on his back was that we were the best. It is easy, when on a good horse that is attentive and intuitive, to get caught up making him your identity. He was proof that maybe I am actually getting good at riding. Maybe the demons in my head were wrong, that I would become something. My future revolved around him, what saddle pads I would buy, a savings account for horse shows, I’d even stay in a relationship that didn’t feel good so I could continue to afford life with him. I felt like I had a reason to live when I rode him.

The equine industry is made up of thankless hours, poor pay, and often, as a guinea pig rider, bad or borderline dangerous horses. I spend 11 – 13 hours a day living and breathing the barn rat life. Scrubbing horses to pristine condition, riding horses, cleaning up after them. Keeping cobwebs and mice out of a bank barn is a war of attrition. This horse was a breath of fresh air I didn’t know I needed. Then one beautiful day, everything changed.

It was a Friday, I had the whole weekend off and was planning on going to the ocean. 2 days off in a row is a bit of a luxury. I was tired by the time I had gotten to him, he was the last one on my list for the day. In fact, I didn’t really want to ride him. I had a half day and needed to go grocery shopping and to clean out my car before my little adventure. But I also knew that you don’t get to Grande Prix taking days off, so I hurried up eating a snack and got him tacked. I spent a bit of time grooming him and playing us music. Nobody else was in the barn, one of the girls was up in the house and had said she would come back out but I hadn’t seen her yet. Eventually, after we were dressed, I drug us off toward the indoor. My training plan was to have a short productive ride. We would start with some walking, then trot circles, 1 of each lateral movement with transitions to the halt as needed, then to focus on the canter. The canter was what we were really focusing on. More power and hind legs without running into my hands and to hold him in a straight line down quarterline with my thighs and calves. We would then practice changes, on quarterline so I could see in the mirror and try and stay straight. He had been a bit strong in the changes that week, but it was Friday, and he usually felt very good after 4 days of work. Then we would take a walk break and practice half a loop each way of passage. All in under 30 minutes if I was effective and he was attentive, which was often the case.

I was on the mounting block when I realized I had forgotten my helmet. That was annoying. He wasn’t the type to be left standing alone while I ran the 45 feet back to the barn to grab it. I pondered for a few seconds whether or not he would kill me today. He rarely ever spooked; he was extremely gentle and brave. But, I was alone, and discretion is the better part of valor, so I hopped off the mounting block and made him run with me back to the barn to grab my helmet. Maybe I didn’t NEED to vacuum the car.

He felt good when I got on him. I was a bit distracted during the walk, one of the horses in the stonedust paddocks was having a frolick and it made me giggle so I watched the bucking and farting while we walked around. After a shoulder-in each way, he felt like he was breathing easily and was light in the contact. So we started to trot, to the right, everything felt good, he was motoring along, light in my hands. We did a few circles the leg yielded to the left. As I went through the short side, I didn’t feel anything particularly wrong, he slowed down a tiny bit in the leg yield but it might have been a half tick on a metronome. We started a left cirlce, and without warning, his front end gave way.

I have ridden many trips on horses. Often, I can catch them in the bridle and yank their heads up and we scramble up without falling. There wasn’t any of that. one moment, he was there, the next, he was gone. Then there was sand, and darkness and all the air in my body was pushed out of me. The side of his butt was on my head, my knees took a tremendous amount of pressure as the saddle pressed them into the footing. And he was up, his tail was in my face. I couldn’t move. It takes a long several seconds after the air is pushed out, for the body to allow it back in. I know he cantered away, slowly I rolled over, and he had come back to me. He reached his big soft lips down and pushed them towards my neck, clearly not knowing what had happened either. When the air came back, it allowed the tears. Very slowly, I stretched out each piece of me, somehow, I wasn’t broken. I hugged his head from the ground and cried. Everything hurt but I thought maybe I am okay. Once I decided I was okay, holding onto his head I pulled myself up, now I needed to figure out if he was okay too.

As the adrenalin poured into me, I turned the pain into anger. What had I missed? Why had he fallen? What had I done wrong? I brought him back into the barn and put the lounging gear on to see him move on a circle. Ana came out “Done so soon??”

The rest is a blur. A degenerative nerve in his neck, incurable. The nails getting hammered into the coffin around my heart, the result would be me having the euthanize him 30 days later. Everything turned bland, living started to feel like a long stretch of cold miso soup.

It didn’t end there.

I couldn’t hold weight, hernia, concussion, surgery, physical therapy.

Migraines.

Depression.

Suicidal ideation.

Hospitalized.

FEAR.

For the first time in my life, I am afraid. The thought of getting on my own horses, horses I have owned for years, that I started, has me trembling head to foot.

I don’t know what or why I am doing this with my life anymore.

Grande Prix feels fake, in the sense of smoke and mirrors. Is that me being bitter towards the lost opportunity? Or realistic that maybe if I had taken the afternoon off, when I was tired, I might have felt something before it happened. One lost afternoon doesn’t cost the future. Maybe I had my sights set so hard on a goal, I started to forget the magic of the experience underneath me.

I need to find the magic again.

Maybe, blogging about it, we can find the magic together.