Treasures

So, this started out as a Hey, not to worry, Hug a Sheep Day is still a go even though the weather is looking cruddy sort of post, but I ended up typing War and Peace.  So, I'll do a more thorough and fun Hug a Sheep Day post tomorrow and let this roll today because it says a few things (well, probably more than a few ;-) that apparently want to be said.  My pictures weren't very inspiring anyway.  

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I met Handy about 25 years ago.  He'd flunked out of a big show barn down south (as a two year old) and they sent him up here to donate him to the college I was attending.  When they found out that because they'd bred him, they could not get a tax right off for his donation, they said he was not worth the freight home (when gas was still cheap) and to "stockyard" him.   

Standing in the stall, high headed and big eyed, he was a beautiful colt.  He had a royal pedigree with a full brother who won a blue ribbon at the World Championship Horse Show.  He was... "a silly SOB who's going to hurt someone."  I knew the trainer, the assistant trainer, good friends of the owner and trainers.  They all said "You don't want to mess with him."  I was young (and cocky).  He was cheap (killer price). I took him home.  Their only other words of advice were "Don't ever take the halter off him.  Even in a stall you'll never catch him again."

I remember the guy I was dating at the time not wanting me to be there by myself when the farrier came to pull his show shoes.  He was late getting there to meet us though and the farrier and I went on without him.  Afterwards I led  him to the round pen, threw a saddle on him, messed with him a little, felt good about him and climbed on.  We walked around a bit and then went out to the open arena.  We walked around a bit more and headed out to the back 40.  We were just riding back down the lane when the boyfriend drove up. I gave the colt a name to grow into - Handy.

He was a big, gangly young horse.  And while he never, ever did anything dangerous or even remotely stupid, he was kind of a hard ride.  He trotted okay, but cantering was a disorganized disaster that frequently resembled a cartoon ride.  It was suggested that maybe if I drove him for while he'd strengthen up.  I ground drove him a time or two, hooked him to a jog cart (you really need to do more prep work than that - be safe!) and never looked back.  Handy had found his job.  

I worked at an office at the Kentucky Horse Park at the time.  They were hosting a big Combined Driving Event and I walked over at lunchtime to see what that was about.  I met the neatest lady from Michigan driving a cute Morgan mare and she let me ask her a million questions and ended up taking me under her wing all weekend and became a trusted mentor.   The following year Handy and I were competing in that event.  Our first driving show.

I didn't have money for a trainer but I'd joined the local driving club and taken a couple lessons.  I'd navigated for Marlene a couple times so wasn't completely in the dark.  Handy, on the other hand, was.  Our first day of competition was "an easy day" though - dressage.  He did everything I asked for and at the end of the day I walked over to check the scores.  Our score was way different then all the others in my class.  What did I do wrong? 

A couple of the judges were standing nearby and finally one (an older east coast judge) asked me if I needed some help.  I explained this was my first event and wasn't sure how to read the board.  "Okay, which number are you?"  I pointed.  "Oh, the big red horse?"  "Yes, ma'am."  "Your score is that low because you are in first place.  That was the nicest training level test I've ever judged."  

As I shakily walked away from the office, several of my friends from the local driving club saw me and came over and started doing this silly bowing down thing saying "We're not worthy.  We're not worthy." ;-) 

Then next day was "Marathon" day - cross country.  Each obstacle is completely different, resembling the big solid jumps the riding eventers compete over.  We go through.  My navigator and I had planned our routes through each one, but Handy had never seen one in real life.  As we approached the first one, he put on the brakes, no, go on, what?!?, trust me, huh?!?, go on, okay, and we finally skittered through.  The second obstacle he barely questioned and by the third he'd figured out that it was all a "game" and fellow competitors and spectators started following us around the course whooping and hollering, cheering us on.  

The final day - cones - was, well, honestly I don't even really remember it.  But at the end of the weekend, Handy had won the training level single horse class, the training level division (singles, pairs, four-in-hand) dressage championship and the training level division overall championship.  I still seldom took his halter off though ;-).

For many years Handy took me as far around the country as I could afford to go.  Most shows, unless I screwed something up, he was at very least reserve show champion.  We went to combined driving events, pleasure shows, pleasure drives, exhibitions, parades.  He did all the work.  He was fearless and smart.  He was kind, honest and safe.  I wrecked my cart in a hazard once and he froze, standing to let us step down and untangle him while two other wrecks the same day sent their drivers to the ER.  I trusted him with my life. 

I loved having people come out to the farm and take a drive.  He'd let everyone take a turn driving him if they wanted. Once we hosted two executives from the US Pony Clubs.  The first lady climbed onto the carriage and when I asked Handy to trot off, he did the slowest, softest, collected trot ever.  It wasn't our normal warm up, but I trusted him completely and went along with it.  At the end of the ride, my passenger admitted being very scared in the beginning, but "What a nice horse.  I had a great time."  The next lady climbed on and Handy marched off like normal, happy to show her the difference between "come left" and "hard left" at top speed.  He knew.  He always knew. 

So, if you've made it to the bottom of this epistle, I think, other than just wanting to explain the earlier blog title and share a couple (out of hundreds) of stories, what I think Handy would probably encourage us to walk away with is don't ever let anyone pigeon hole you, telling you who you are or who you'll never be.  There is a spot for everyone.  Sometimes you have to go out and look for your spot and sometimes it finds you and you just need to raise your hoof and say so. 

And those rare horses, dogs, people...that you can honestly and completely trust your life to?  Treasure them.  And be grateful.  And thank them for their gifts, large and small.  For their encouragement, shared knowledge...and so many kind words when you are hurting and lost.

Thank you.