"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

My first horse, a short black mare, and I stood squared off. We were in the round pen. We were both early in our education.

She was the first horse I had started under saddle on my own, and I was being carefully watched. 

We stood in the center of the pen, I was at her head, lightly tapping her right side with my whip. I didn’t like tapping her. Even the lightest brush would elicit a pig-like squeal. 

Tap. 

“EeeEuee.” 

…. Tap

“EEEEee”

She clearly didn’t want to move over. This was the first step in teaching obedience to the leg before I got on. 

I looked at her beautiful black face carefully, her ears were perked up and her eyes bright and attentive. I slowly raised the whip again, her ears flattened. 

“Please move over,” I whispered to her, and gently tapped her side again. She squealed and shook her neck at me, but did not move. 

“Be Fierce!” I was startled out of my trance with her. My teacher stood on the side of the round pen, he looked as though he found this either funny or annoying. It was hard to tell. 

Okay. I needed to get a result already. How many times had I tapped her and we had practiced not moving? I could just have a horse that squeals instead of a horse that I ride. 

“Move over.” I told her and this time I tapped her harder than I had tapped her before. She squealed louder and stepped forward. I was slow to move and then her left foot was on my foot, and she bowled me over onto my back. 

“Get off me!” She stood on my foot, pinning me down, defiant.

“EEEEee.”

 “Oh my God” the click of the round pen gate opening.

My horse startled off me, she knew she was being naughty. 

“I didn’t even have to yell at her, she knew to get off you as I approached… Are you crying!?” 

I got up, my foot felt very sore. Fortunately, the rubber footing in the round pen had allowed it to sink considerably. 

I was crying, and I hated myself for it. My back felt sweaty and the tears rolled down my face. 

“I can’t take this anymore. You are so weak in spirit you are being bullied by your own horse. We need to do something about this.”

He searched my face, as if I might have a suggestion, I searched the ground and observed that some of the rubber pieces were slightly bigger than others.

“… You are going to go to karate.”