My Gorgeous Angel

She was gorgeous!

The most perfect specimen of horseflesh I’d ever seen. Her red chestnut coat gleamed in the summer sun. Flaxen mane and tail. A flowing mane . . . long and silky. She stood sixteen hands, and her conformation – perfection! She moved with a gliding grace, floating over the ground. Just to watch her out in the field was a treat. What would it be like to actually ride her!

Be sweet heaven!

I had to have her.

Okay, the money I had was supposed to be for other things—like fixing my truck. Or getting a new one. Probably should just get a new one . . . It needed so much work. I’d need a few more farrier clients than I already had in order to fix it.

But, I couldn’t help myself. I asked offhandedly, “So . . . what’s her price?”

Max Hardy, owner of Clearview Acres Stables, looked me over. “You interested, Josh?"

“Why not? Looks like she could be what I’m looking for in an eventer.”

He gave a slight nod. “She could at that. But she’s a puzzle.”

I didn't ask what he meant by that. Just asked again, “What’s the price?"

Max shifted his position, leaned an arm along the fence. “Well . . . tell you what; I’ll cut you a deal on her. I could get twenny or thirty thousand for her . . . maybe more. You know that! But, if you really want her, you think you can make headway with her, she’s yours for two.”

“Two? Two thousand? Really?” I had that and would still be able to work on the truck!

He nodded. “You make an eventer out of her, Joshua!” He turned a bit to clap me on the shoulder. “If you can do that, you’ve earned her”

I was ecstatic! Max said he’d have her delivered next day, and I went off home happy as a pig in slop. Even waived his farrier fees for that day.

“You what?” Mom turned from the stove and eyed me askance. “Josh, we need the truck repaired, and—”

“I know, Momma, and I can still do that. But wait till you see her! I can see myself winning the events—one right after the other! She’s got looks. She’s got grace! She’s got spirit! She’s—”

“Got you under some kind of spell! All right . . . I’ll reserve judgement until I see her for myself.”

“She’s got an attitude,” said Mom, the second Angel came off the trailer, leaping out of it instead of walking off the ramp.

“What? How can you know that? She’s barely gotten here!”

I studied her as Max’s stable hand led her over to us. Angel moved easily beside the man with just the slightest jerking of the lead, so I felt Mom was seeing things that weren’t there. Jumping out of the trailer—we’d had horses and a couple of ponies who’d done that.

“Here you go, Josh! Have a good one!” The man handed me her lead and with a touch to the brim of his hat to Mom, he strode back to the truck and rumbled off down the lane.

Mom came closer to get acquainted with my girl. Angel nuzzled her, and sniffed at her hair. Which I realized just then, was the same color as Angel herself. Me, I had Dad’s dark brown. Mom pet her, ran a hand over her whole body, then stood back a step.

“She is something, all right! You better be sure you want to spend the time with her she’s going to need! Gonna take more time than you’re probably thinking, to get her where you want her to be! Like I said, eventing is a tough discipline!”

“She’s not green, Mom!”

“Just saying.” Mom stroked Angel’s neck one time more, and then she went away toward the barn. “I’ll get her stall ready. Which you should’ve done yesterday!”

I should have. But, got sidetracked with ordering the parts for the truck. And sitting at the desk, daydreaming and stuff. Imagining the trophies I’d soon be taking home, show after show, event after event . . .

Now, I led Angel to the paddock next to the field where Mom’s three horses were grazing. Missy, a pretty buckskin Arab-Quarter Horse cross, whose ground eating trot left most of us in the dust at a canter, Mercury, her gray Welsh-Arab cross she’d had since she was a kid, and Domingo Vittorio, her Palomino Paso Fino. Dad’s Morgan, Playboy, dozed under the maple tree off to the left. Mom couldn’t bear to part with him after Dad died.

Dad was the reason I was a farrier now. He trained me, and I took over his clients when he passed.

The other horses gazed up with interest as I let Angel loose in the paddock. In a moment, they all came to check her out. After several minutes of exchanging sniffs, snuffs, and nose blows, they fell to grazing together, separately, in complete companionship.

That was promising.

I went off to the barn to help Mom, feeling on top of the world with my sweet new horse!

Angel was a dream to ride. Just . . . an absolute dream . . .

But a nightmare for pretty much everything else. Especially, mounting . . .

In the ring, maybe she’d behave on a lunge line, maybe not. She’d stop when she felt like it, no matter how many times I asked her to stop. If I yanked too hard on the lunge line, she often reared up. And then, she’d just stand where she was, not paying me the slightest attention.

She proved to be a royal pain in my butt to catch in the field. Sure, she’d come up to the barn for supper, but if she thought I was going to make her work . . . she was off like a shot. Grain in a pail or treats in hand didn’t work. She wasn’t falling for those old gags!

Missy was like that at times too, but Mom had figured out that if she moved quick enough to keep Missy right in front of her, and kept moving toward her, she’d eventually feel she had no place to go and give it up.

Not Angel. There was no getting hold of her until she was stinkin’ well ready for me to. And that could be minutes or it could be hours . . . or days . . .

Handling her feet—yeah . . . She either refused to pick them up, or she’d kick out. The day I set to trim hooves on all the horses, I saved Angel for last. Good thing. While the other four were models of cooperation, Angel was not. First, she refused to pick up her hooves at all. When I forced the issue, she danced away from me on the other three feet, struggling to yank her hoof out of my grasp.

She finally succeeded in getting free of me, and she kicked out. Caught me square in a very sensitive place . . . I yodeled a little, really wanting to swat her a good one with my file!

She acted in a similar way with the vet when he came to deworm and vaccinate the horses. He confidently attempted to shove the syringe with the dewormer paste into the back of Angel's mouth. Up she reared, knocking him to the ground. At the same time, she picked my little mother, who was holding the lead for him, right up off the ground! She hung on, though, because that’s just how she is.

Fun stuff . . . Yeah.

Saddling Angel was a project of delight. She danced away from it, or tried crunching me into the fence or the wall, depending on where we were at the time. Once it was on her, she’d stand for me to get her cinched up. Only, she’d hold her breath while I did it. Then let it out after a bit. Which meant, once I got on her, the saddle would be loose and slide sideways. Sometimes right off and sometimes a bit later after we got going. In either case, it took me with it.

I’d have to pick myself up out of the dirt and tighten the cinch again.

This time, I’d knee her in the gut to get her to breathe so I could get the cinch tight enough. And then the struggle to mount once again started anew. For stand still for me to get on, she would not. Good thing I’m fairly tall. I learned to just take a flying leap at her and go for it. Sometimes I landed well, and others . . . not so much. She’d move away just as I launched and I’d find myself in the dirt, my dignity flattened.

“Told you she had an attitude.” ventured my mother, one day after I’d been a whole half hour trying to mount.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Now we know why she was so cheap!” Mom eyed me with a bit of a cheeky grin.

“Yeah, and you’ve been wanting to say that like forever, right?”

Her grin widened. She said, “I don’t see how you’ll have her ready for anything before the season ends. Possibly next year . . . if you stick it out. I suppose we could just breed her . . . but with our luck, her foals would all be like her!”

“No!” I stated, getting up from the dust and brushing off my britches. “We’re going to be at that Summerville Event in October if it’s the last thing I do! And we’re gonna win!”

October was far enough off for me to think we had a chance at it.

“I think you should start small. Take her to the shows at some of the fairs going on now. See how she acts. You do good at those, then take the next step. No way is she ready for even the beginner’s level of an event. Take the time to get to know her, and for her to get to know you.”

She was right. I’d only had Angel a matter of weeks. But I was determined. And right when I was about to say so, Angel nonchalantly picked up her left hoof and clomped it down squarely upon my foot. And laughed, folding up her upper lip and shaking her head vigorously.

Mom cracked up. Scowling, I took my errant mare, and I stomped off for the mounting block. Got her to line up with it and stand still for a second. I launched myself into the air . . . and right over her back. Lay there, staring at the sky, dazed.

“You moron!” I uttered breathlessly when I could. “I expected you to move away from me!”

Mom doubled over with guffaws. “Are-are . . . are you . . . are you all right?” She asked between giggles.

“I’m fine!” I answered curtly, peeling myself up off the ground. Grabbing the reins, I stalked off to the block. This time, Angel backed away, and I slammed into her strong neck. She threw her head up, half rearing.

“Augh! Stop laughing, Mother!” From where I lay, I kicked a clod of dirt her way.

Which only made her giggle the more . . .

As the days and weeks passed, my enthusiasm wavered between hope and despair. Some days, Angel was just that – an angel. Except the mounting issue. The devil there!

On the good days, she’d settle as soon as I managed to get my butt in the saddle. She’d do whatever I asked her to do. Within reason. If she felt I was pushing too hard—whether I was or not—she’d stop dead wherever we were, whatever we were doing, and refuse to budge. Which meant, if we were attempting jumps, I went flying head over heels into the dust . . .

“You’re such a mule!”

Apparently, she didn’t mind that comparison because her attitude didn’t change.

So, I, in the end, decided to take Mom’s advice and enter a few classes in the Summerville fair. English equitation, trail, pleasure and halter. If I felt like it, and it was allowed, I’d enter other classes on that day . . . if Angel hadn’t embarrassed me too badly.

Mom and I registered for our classes online on Monday. Mom was competing in both Western and English divisions. I’d be in direct competition with her in the English classes, plus other experienced riders. I had experience—just not as much as them.

So, I did a lot of trail riding with Angel as well as schooling her over some small obstacles. Leading her about in the ring, and getting her to stand square. Walk, trot, canter, stop, back and halt.

I spent the week before the show getting us both ready. Figured I didn’t have to worry too-too much about the mounting issue—as long as we weren’t asked to dismount and remount in the ring.

The Friday before the show, she performed credibly. Made me feel like I’d made some progress with her, and we maybe had a shot at this thing!

Yee-ah, right . . .

Halter classes - mare and open English halter - she walked calmly beside me, squared up nice and pretty . . . until the judges come to us. Casually, her eyes front, she picked up that left hoof and set it painfully upon my right foot. Both classes, she did that.

Points taken off for that move.

They said I placed sixth in both classes, but they don’t give ribbons or recognition for sixth.

Mom won the class with Missy.

Equitation class should’ve been a cinch. Walk, trot, canter, reverse . . . repeat . . . Plus, it’s not the horse being judged, it’s the rider. So her floating way of going should’ve gotten me a first place blue ribbon for sure!

But no . . . I didn’t sit deep enough in the saddle, my elbows were wrong, and I squeezed my knees too tightly against the saddle which made my legs hang loose. Therefore, no consistent contact with my horse, said the judges. All my faults and none of hers. But—she had a tendency to trot and canter faster than called for and which I kept trying to curb. Concentrating on that took my focus from the other things.

Mom won that class too.

I had no chance to regroup. The announcer called for the next class. English trail.

We’d ridden our trails so often lately, I rode them in my sleep. Angel’d taken downed trees effortlessly, trod though puddles, forded our little stream, and trotted upon the wooden bridge over that same stream. In fact, her best days had been out on the trail. So, I had higher hopes for this class.

Su-ure . . .

Angel, instead of performing as nicely as she had on the home trails, balked at almost all of the obstacles, trotted around the puddles, bypassed the bridge, and refused to come close to the mailbox for me to open and close it. She backed well.

Then . . . I had to dismount and remount . . .

With a mighty leap, I threw my leg across her. She sidestepped, and while my leg touched her body, I came down flat on my face, spread eagle. Scraping myself up, I led her out of the arena, dirty, angry, and embarrassed . . .

The crowd applauded my efforts anyway, and Angel rubbed her head against me as if to say “Sorry”.

I wasn’t buying it.

Mom won that blue ribbon as well.

I wanted to duck the last class. Mom said it was my decision to make, but if I wanted to stick it out, there was a clean shirt and britches for me in the dressing room in the trailer.

I changed my clothes, determined to stick it out.

English pleasure was pretty much the same routine as the Equitation class except this time the horses were under scrutiny. Still, I tried to be mindful of my legs and elbows. Again, Angel blew my trust. She kept trotting or cantering faster than was asked for, and so kept running up on the hind end of the bay in front of us. He swished his tail in annoyance and kicked out at us.

“Angel! Stop it!” I ordered through shut teeth.

She tossed her head and resisted my next cue to reverse course. And, finally, in the line up, she decided she was backing up for nobody!

All the things she’d done perfectly the day before—except the mounting thing—she blew today.

Mom, on the other hand, came away with Grand Champion in both English and Western divisions—with the same horse, Missy.

While she was getting crowned Grand Champion for Western, I was sulking by our trailer.

“Now we know why she was so cheap . . .” Mom’s words came back to mock me. Max's "She's a puzzle . . ."

Angel stood munching hay and looking at me thoughtfully. Before dropping her head for another mouthful, she reached out and nipped my arm. It might’ve been meant playfully, but it hurt like mad, nonetheless. I wanted to swat her a good one! Maybe more than once!

“Ow, you little jerk! No, you BIG jerk! What the hell—”

“Hi! I like your horse. She’s gorgeous!”

I turned my head to stare at the speaker. A tallish girl about my age stood gazing at Angel in awe.

The past few months flashed before my eyes. And then, today . . .

I didn’t hesitate. Enough of this equine puzzle already!

“Y’ want her? Tell you what, I’ll make y’ a deal . . .!”