Horse Sense

I’ve long been a fan of horses, and I say that as someone who at an early age was petrified of the things. It took a visit to a farm with my school when I was about ten for me to get over that, and I will always be thankful to my friend Scott for showing me how harmless they really are when you treat them with the necessary respect. They are wonderfully noble animals, horses, and from that day on the farm I looked at them differently. We were never wealthy enough as a family to buy one, but my dad did pay out so I could join a club and get the experience of horseback rides that I had been craving. Since then I’ve made enough money that I could buy my own horse, stable it and take part in horseback sports as I had long wished to.

My horse, Killer (I named her ironically after my first three or four rides had produced the most sedate experiences of my life), is particularly comfortable on rough terrains. Crazy, I know, but I guess this is her wilder side showing through. Recently I have been going on a lot of weekends’ riding in rough country, each time she runs like an absolute beauty. However, due to my sense of direction not being a major strong point, the last time I took her out I found that we strayed off the beaten track in a bad way, and without the prior planning that I had taken care to do this could have turned into a real problem very quickly. Fortunately, it didn’t.

That it didn’t was due to two things. Firstly, Killer and her supernatural levels of calm. I have always found that animals are more aware of tension than humans, perhaps due to the fact that humans tend to communicate problems verbally and animals, well, cannot. Killer is pretty good at detecting when I’m feeling a particular way, and I have to be honest, this time I was as nervous as a full-back under an up-and-under. This could well have led to her taking fright and the whole situation getting a lot worse. She didn’t, and when I dismounted to try and get my bearings she followed me around by the reins without me needing to really try.

The second thing that helped was that I had packed the usual supplies in my backpack, among them two hydration packs filled to the brim with cool water. Usually, these would be for me to keep hydrated during a demanding ride, but I figured that, given the conditions, Killer could maybe do with a drink as well. My riding helmet acting as an excellent surrogate bowl, I poured her out a good drink and had the other bottle for myself. Before too long, another rider who had noticed our absence rode up and pointed out where I’d gone wrong. It was embarrassing, but it could have been worse had it not been for an instinct for preparation and another for relaxation.