Every now and then a strange sort of pulse beats through Hollywood and suddenly several major studios announce they are in pre-production on the same story, like a few years ago when we saw a couple films about Truman Capote writing In Cold Blood released back to back. Sometimes it's just cynicism (we've got to get a piece of that), sometimes it's just the Zeitgeist, and occasionally it might even be just coincidence.
I think it's all about the Zeitgeist in the horse world right now, however. Whether as a consequence of traumatic horse health issues, Denali, or getting a new horse after a painstaking search, Pie, or even just the coming winter keeping us on the ground with our horses, face to face, more than up on their backs, a good question has surfaced in some of my favorite blogs in the last day or two. It's a question about how like your horse you are, with a few variations.
I wish. I wish I was like any of the three horses that have been in my life since I came back to riding in 2004. Never mind. In fact, I am like them, just in not very practical or positive ways.
Scout, the horse I probably would be:
Scout, the horse I probably would be:
I'm way too much like Scout, who's the reason I started this journal in the first place. Back then, I'd just finished a year and half of agonizing over her before finally deciding to let her go. Putting her up for sale seemed somehow equivalent to giving up on myself too, though. It meant I might never face my fears about riding. But Scout and I were like two peas in a pod, and what kind of relationship can ever exist in one of those? We both carried too much tension, too much hyper-vigilance, and we fed off each other terribly. I could never fake it and she could never believe. She was an island unto herself when I got her, and while she let me in, it was her island, not mine. None of that matters now, because Scout came off the market as soon as she was injured and she'll be with me until I don't know when. I love her as a person more than as a horse, as odd as that may be. She's still too smart for her own good, and that's true of me sometimes, too. She doesn't take the time to savor every bite, and I also eat mindlessly. We're both a 7 on the fat-horse index. She knows me, and she knows I know her. We're best face to face with each other, and sometimes we're even great there.
Next installment: Dar.
Next installment: Dar.
3 comments:
That mirroring thing can be pretty interesting - I think sometimes horses bring into relief aspects of ourselves that we didn't know (or maybe hoped) weren't there. I'm glad you and Scout have found a way to be together than works.
Maybe some day when you are ready Scout may be the horse you need to complete you. I think everything happens for a reason and she is still there with you.
Scout is the you that is personal. The inside face that not all can see. She is your fears and your triumphs. What a curious mix of bold, bossiness and insecurity and tension. You understand her and love her, and she you. Just like you, she may at times seem indifferent, but we know better. It is not just the bringer of carrots. or even the rider, but the kindred spirit that will always connect the two of you.
Post a Comment