Equine Ambassador Extraordinaire

Julian

As my dutiful neighbors mowed their manicured lawns today, I headed 17 miles SW to a big, black horse just waiting to get out for a good run. Summer is fast approaching, and the farmer next to the ranch is due to seed his cornfield--my racetrack--any day, and we weren't about to miss our chance.

As it turns out, he had seeded last Wednesday night--but let the ranch owners know that it was still safe to ride until the seedlings sprouted. So it was on.

Julian needed a good brushing, and I did it holding my breath, hoping to avoid another terrific allergy outbreak. Forgot a damp towel to catch the dust. I can't get away without that kind of tool anymore, and I won't forget again.

Saddling is easy when your horse is concentrating on what grass is left in the round pen--only muscle is needed to get that cinch tight after a winter of blanketing and too much grain. (My fault.) Took a few tries, but after getting it to the tightest notch possible for me, my arms went up like a prize fighter who just KO'd his opponent. I knew by the next day that lifting my arms that high would be nigh impossible, so I enjoyed it while I could.

We headed out through the long, dark row of white pines, me relaxing my back for any spooks due to birds and he tensing up as the herd grew further behind him. Once we reached the end of the drive, however, he had resigned himself to his fate of perhaps a thirty minute ride and settled in at a good pace.

The field was fast (a.k.a. dry) with good footing for some solid trot and canter work. He moved off my leg really well and I waited for him to leap into a run, but he didn't--he was right there with me. After a little work, we took advantage of the nearby neighborhood and did our own single-horse parade for the residents, also all obsessively manicuring their lawns. (Just one more good reason NOT to have a lawn.) We got a few startled looks and even a few carrots, while also leaving an unavoidable deposit near the Schroeders' mailbox. If anyone saw me drive back later and deposit that in the back of my Beetle in a large shovel, there will probably be men with white coats waiting for me next time around, but we at the Moodies' Rolling M Ranch like to put on tidy parades.

That is the second-most favorite thing about Julian: his adeptness as an equine ambassador. He turns heads wherever we go and reminds people of the beauty and power of the horse, as well as their gentle nature, which he shares with anyone that runs up with treats to offer or hands eager to pet him. As a child dreaming of horses I didn't even think there were horses anywhere near the "huge" city of Madison, and I like to make sure that the people near my ranch know that there are, and I'm willing to share.

Crossing back over the road from the neighborhood into the cornfield I was seized by an urge for my favorite reason for having a horse: a good healthy gallop. Julian was eager to oblige and lit out like we were riding the plains of Lonesome Dove after a wild herd of buffalo. Our rhythym was complete, with no need for me to hold anything but a loose collection of reins in my left hand, leaving my right hand free to circle in the air with my imaginary lasso. I vaguely remember cars passing by, but I couldn't bother to look over and miss my bison.

Luckily my "rope" fell on empty air, since I left my Bowie knife at home. Only thing harder than catching a bison is figuring out what the hell to do with it once you've caught him.

Once again, thank you, Julian, for helping me transcend our own reality. I don't know what you chase when we gallop, but I suspect you dream of it during the week as much as I do.

After the chase, chillin' with Mannie.

Not to forget Jack... I still haven't devoted much time to his training, as my health insurance is simply not that extensive, but I did brush and inspect him for his regular weekly nicks and cuts. As usual, he had a new one, this time right on his nose. He was kind enough to allow me to dress it with some Derma Gel, a great product that disinfects and helps the hair grow back in the same color it was--most important in a black horse, really. (Scars on horses grow back with white hair, generally speaking, so Derma Gel is my go-to product for Julian.)

As our fields fill with corn and our exploratory perimeters shrink for the summer, Jack will get more of the attention he so greatly deserves. And I'll keep trying to rope in more horse lovers, as the more hands I have out there, the more time I have for Jack, who only trusts a few two-legged folks so far.

Patience, Jack. We have not forgotten you.